Dormite Vivere
by Angel Left Wing
Summary: Things go badly wrong on top of the Astronomy Tower. Draco hesitates and is cursed by his aunt. Can things get any worse? Why, yes, they can. He is locked in his own body, unable to move, and in the care of one Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **_I am not now, nor have I ever been, J.K. Rowling or any person affiliated with Warner Brothers and Bloomsbury. I am not profiting from this story, which contains characters to which I claim no right. Rest easy, copyright lawyers, this is just imitation as a form of flattery. Disclaimer applies to the rest of the story._

Hello, new readers and old! Seeing as it's been over a year since I updated this story, I thought I'd ease myself back into writing with a quick edit and re-publish of the original chapters. I look forward to posting some new chapters in the very near future - and if you've been with me since the beginning, thank you so much for your patience xx

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**Chapter 1: Aware**

"Do it, Draco!"

"I-I can't..."

"Do it! Kill him!"

The tall, blond boy pointed his wand and cleared his throat. He took a deep, fortifying breath and lifted his eyes to his target, met the steady gaze of Albus Dumbledore... and faltered.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him now!"

"Aunt Bella, I-"

"Just _do it_. Do it for the Dark Lord, for the glory of your family!"

Draco risked another glance at his headmaster. The old man regarded him without expression. "Draco, I can help you."

Bellatrix laughed, an unholy sound that sent shivers down the spine. "What kind of help could my nephew possibly want from you?"

Dumbledore ignored the interruption, keeping his eyes firmly locked with his student's. "You don't need to do this. There is another way. Lower your wand."

The boy shuddered. "He'll kill me. He'll kill my mother."

"He will do that whether you succeed here or not. Tom Riddle is not a man of his word. He has no concept of honour-"

"You dare insult the Dark Lord? You dare _use his name_?" Bellatrix shrieked. She swished her wand in temper, not noticing that her nephew had lowered his own.

But Dumbledore had noticed. He gave the boy an infinitesimal nod and gestured to someone in the shadows. Draco felt arms close around him, slowly pulling him from his aunt's side. He fought the urge to cry with relief. Too late, Bellatrix sensed her nephew's withdrawal.

"Draco?"

The arms released him, and a figure swathed in black took a protective stance in front of him.

"Severus," Bellatrix greeted. "Have you come to accomplish what the boy could not?"

From his partially obscured position, Draco could see the Headmaster edging towards him, wordlessly summoning the wand that had been removed from him earlier.

"No."

_No_. That single word seemed to resonate around the Astronomy Tower's wind-whipped platform. It seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

"No?" she repeated, almost dumbly. "No? But the Unbreakable Vow-"

"I have been released from my promise."

Even in his current state of shock, Draco realised that Snape was distracting his aunt, playing for time, and he willed Dumbledore closer to safety. Bellatrix, in a rare display of un-Slytherin abstraction, remained unsuspecting.

"Why would Narcissa do such a thing?"

"Her reasons are her own."

"I will make her see sense. Why, the Dark Lord himself-"

"The Dark Lord no longer has Narcissa Malfoy in his power."

Bellatrix released a scream of rage, a terrifying sound that carried on the wind and returned as an echo. Her wild eyes scanned the platform until they lighted on Dumbledore, now barely two feet from Draco's side. "Betrayed! I am betrayed!" With a razor-sharp movement, she levelled her wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The Headmaster dodged the curse neatly, watching with interest as the green light sailed past him. Snape took the opportunity to disarm her as a commotion on the stairs below drew all of their attention.

Aurors.

Bellatrix bared her teeth at her nephew. "Death would be too good for you, you Blood Traitor bastard."

Draco watched, frozen with horror, as she executed a complicated manoeuvre with her hands, sending purple-black tendrils of Dark Magic twisting across the platform towards him. He vaguely registered the Headmaster reciting counter-curse after counter-curse, but the pace of the oncoming doom remained unchanged. The wisps surrounded him, rooting him to the spot as Bellatrix let out a chilling cackle. He was pulled to the floor by the strength of the magic, falling with a sickening, bone-cracking thud. He was faintly aware of his aunt's shrill laughter, faintly aware of the booted feet of several Aurors rushing past him, faintly aware of their frustrated shouts. Faintly aware of Dumbledore quickly issuing orders, and the mutters of Snape's diagnostic and protective spells. _Aware_.

* * *

"_Dormite Vivere_. The Curse of Living Sleep."

Draco opened his eyes onto an unfamiliar ceiling, painted white and flickering with the reflections of a chandelier. He blinked to accustom himself to the harshness of the light, so different to the murk of the Slytherin dungeons.

_Where the hell am I?_

He scanned his most recent memories for clues. The Astronomy Tower. Trying to muster the courage to _Avada_ Dumbledore. His hesitation. Snape. Swirls of purple and black light...

"And what does it do?"

Voices. Female voices. _Who's there? Why are they whispering?_

"It's an old curse, very old. Nobody's seen it for two centuries. Its purpose is to send the victim into a form of paralysis, as if they're asleep, but the mind is awake. The victim is aware of everything but unable to move. It's a cruel fate, intended to drive the recipient slowly mad."

Ah, this voice he definitely recognised. How typical of Mudblood Granger to have all the answers. It begged further questions though – such as where was he, and why in Salazar's name was Granger giving someone a damned lecture?

"That's horrid!"

"It's meant to be."

As it had so often in the past, the know-it-all tone sent Draco into a blinding fury. He tried to pull himself into an upright position, determined to knock Granger down a peg or two, when...

_What the fuck? Why can't I move?_

The rage died in an instant and his blood ran cold. The Mudblood's _sotto voce_ lesson reverberated through his head. _The mind is_ _awake_, she'd said. _Aware of everything but unable to move_. Had they... Had they been discussing him? Was this the effect of that purplish light? _Oh, Merlin_. Panic clawed at him with icy hands as he struggled in vain against the curse.

"Hermione, he's blinking!"

Draco's line of vision was assaulted by copious amounts of red hair before it was pushed aside, replaced by Granger's face, concern evident on her features. Her small sigh of relief tickled his nose, and he was furious that he couldn't wipe away the remnants of her contaminating breath.

"That's a good sign," she murmured, lifting her head away and fixing him with an assessing look. "There may be hope for him yet. Ginny, help me lift him so he can sit up."

He wanted to bat them away, scream at them for daring to touch him, but he was forced to remain still, obedient to their fumbling hands as they wrenched him up against the headboard. As the Mudblood busied herself arranging pillows at his back, Draco was livid to discover that he couldn't even narrow his eyes properly to glare at the Weaselette.

Granger appeared at the foot of the bed, directly in his eye-line. "You can hear us properly, can't you, Malfoy? You're conscious and aware?"

Silence. _What in Merlin's name is she expecting? How the fuck am I supposed to answer her?_

"He's looking at you like he wants to murder you, Hermione."

_An intelligent observation from a Weasley? The apocalypse must be well and truly nigh._

Granger rolled her eyes – _alright for some_ – and smacked a palm to her forehead. "I'm such an idiot." In his mind, Draco was nodding vigorously in agreement. "Okay, we can get around this. Malfoy, when I ask you a question, I want you to blink once for _yes_ and twice for _no_. Are you in any pain?"

Draco stared at her, resolutely unblinking. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He steeled himself not to react.

Granger cast a despairing look to the She-Weasel, who huffed from somewhere to his right. "He's just being an arsehole." Realisation dawned across Granger's face, and her mouth twisted into a half-smirk before she turned her attention back to Draco.

"Well, if that's the way you want to play it. Are you, Draco Malfoy, an arsehole?"

_Granger swears?_

"Are you an arrogant, smarmy prick?"

The Girl Weasley joined her at the foot of the bed. "Are you a secret Hufflepuff-hugger, dying to declare your love of all things Muggle?"

_Fuck this_. Draco blinked twice, outraged, much to the delight of the two girls, who promptly burst into peals of laughter. Merlin, how he wanted to hex them. Or at least have the ability to scowl at them.

"Thank you for clearing that up," said Granger, unsuccessfully stifling her giggles. She took a few deep breaths to compose herself. "Did you hear me explaining your condition to Ginny?"

He waited for a moment, then blinked.

"And we're right? Your mind is responsive but you are without the use of your motor functions?"

_By all means, rub it in. Bitch._ Another blink.

"The fact that you can blink at all is very heartening. Professor Snape has stuffed you full of potions in the hope of slowing the curse down. The research on how to reverse it completely has already started."

The She-Weasel gave an indelicate snort. "Do we have to reverse it? My favourite kind of Malfoy is a silent one."

_And my favourite kind of Weasley is one that isn't sharing my fucking oxygen._

Granger rolled her eyes again. It was infuriating, not being able to do the same. "That's not very helpful."

"Who said I was trying to be helpful?"

"Go to bed."

"But-"

"Go to bed. There'll be plenty of time for you to antagonise him tomorrow."

_I can't decide which one of you I hate the most._

Draco was an unwilling witness to the affectionate goodbye hug between the two. He was partially glad for his current state, as it suppressed his urge to gag. _Sodding Gryffindors_. As soon as the ginger one had left, Granger turned to him once more.

"I understand that the curse knocked you out on the Astronomy Tower. Is that correct?"

He tried to make his answering blink the most sullen movement in history.

"Would you like to know what happened afterwards?"

A wary blink this time. Granger sighed and perched on the end of the bed. Every instinct Draco possessed urged him to recoil, but he had no choice other than to submit to her proximity.

"Amycus Carrow and Rowle were killed. Alecto Carrow was captured and taken into custody. Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange escaped. They jumped from the Tower and disappeared. As no bodies have been recovered, we can only assume that they found their way back to Voldemort." Her mouth twisted momentarily in distaste, but she quickly schooled her face to blankness. "Professors Snape and Dumbledore immediately began their attempts to treat you. As I said, we are searching for a cure, but that may take some time."

She glanced around, before returning her gaze to him. "This is the Head Dorm in Gryffindor Tower. It's not been in use, and Professor Dumbledore thought it would be safer to keep you away from the Slytherins in case of any...retaliation. I've been moved in here too, to oversee your care. I know you won't like it. God knows I don't, but it was necessary. Your continued presence at Hogwarts is a secret that only a handful of teachers and students are privy to." She paused. "We will try to keep somebody with you as much as possible. It won't just be me, which is a relief to both of us, I'm sure. Professor Dumbledore says that interaction is important to someone in your condition."

_Piss off, Granger. Interacting with you is doing unspeakable things to my blood pressure._

Unfortunately for him, she continued. "Madam Pomfrey has been here, and she'll be dropping in now and then to monitor your progress. She's placed you under a spell to keep you healthy, give you nourishment and take care of your, ah, bodily functions."

_Kill me. Kill me now._

She seemed to sense his discomfort, or at least give in to her own. Standing up, she cleared her throat and straightened his bedsheets.

"It's getting late, so I'm going to bed. Do you want me to put you on your back so you can sleep?"

Two blinks. _As if I'd ever consent to you touching me._

"You're okay like that?"

One blink. _Just fuck off already, mudblood._

"Fine. Goodnight, Malfoy." She flicked a hand to extinguish the candles and left Draco alone with his thoughts. He closed his eyes against the gloom, his thoughts dark.

_It would have been so much easier if they'd just let the Slytherins at me._

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**A/N: Please leave a review! But do be gentle, it's my first time :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh. My. God. You people are incredible. Those follows, favourites and reviews... I am thankful for each and every one :) Onwards we go, to a very sweary Draco Malfoy**

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**Chapter 2: Moves**

He knew where he was from the very second he opened his eyes. Not for him that sleepy, unconcerned assumption that he was in his own bed. Nor had he been favoured with any of those beautiful, hazy moments of total relaxation, that blissful cocoon of innocence before remembering just how fucked up everything was.

No, Draco Malfoy had woken up fully cognisant of his surroundings, his current helpless condition and the fact that _Neville fucking Longbottom_ was gawking at him from the foot of the bed.

"Good morning, Malfoy. I see that you're awake."

_Hark at Longbottom, with his fully functional eyesight! What an arsehole._

"H-Hermione sent me. She wanted somebody to sit with you while she's at a meeting."

_Well, isn't this just wonderfuk?_

"She explained everything before she left. About what happened last night. About what happened... to you."

The sympathetic look that passed over Longbottom's face, the empathy in his gentle, hushed voice, would normally have sent Draco into a paroxysm of scorn. As it was, he could only express his irritation by rolling his eyes.

_Wait._

_I can roll my eyes. _

_I can move my damned eyes!_

Excitedly, his gaze shot around the room, taking in everything he hadn't been able to see the night before. Red and gold bedsheets... _urgh_. A couple of battered chairs at his bedside, thick upholstery fraying, also red and bloody gold. A desk in a corner on one side of the door, a wardrobe in another, both of which had seen better days. There was an ancient curtain, sunbleached in places, flapping gently at the side of a partially opened window – he would need to be able to move his head to see the other one. A pile of clothing, folded neatly beside his left knee caught his attention. There was a pair of black trousers, a white shirt and some underwear and socks that he recognised as his own.

Longbottom must have been following his gaze, because he spoke up again. "Professor Dumbledore had a House Elf bring all your things up from the dungeons. Everything's been checked for Dark Magic."

Draco's mood brightened momentarily at the thought of someone having to carefully test his boxers for evil intent.

"Anything that had a Slytherin crest on it was _Incendio'd_, though. Hermione can be a little, er... volatile when she's wound up."

He rolled his eyes again. _Ah, blessed, blessed eye-rolling. How I have missed you._

His unwelcome companion ambled over to one of the gaudy armchairs and sat in it, releasing a cloud of dust.

"These rooms haven't been used for a few years," he explained to a thoroughly uninterested Draco. "Percy Weasley was the last Gryffindor Head Boy. He did his homework in here, but he slept with the other seventh-years. I don't think he was used to being so alone in the night, you know? Coming from such a big family. Still, must be nice to have that many people around you."

_I knew it. I _knew_ that the Weasleys all slept on top of each other like pigs in a pigsty._

He fell quiet again. Draco began to brood on the state of the Weasley hovel, maliciously deciding that the parents had named the house 'The Burrow' because the mother squeezed out children more often than rabbits did, when Longbottom broke the beautiful awkward silence.

"You must be bored, Malfoy. Shall I read to you?"

He responded with two very emphatic blinks. If the confused look he received in return was anything to go by, it appeared that Granger had neglected to share the code with her stupid friend. He stared in horror as Longbottom fumbled in his bag and produced a bedraggled leather-bound tome that practically screamed _I Will Bore The Living Shit Right Out Of You_.

"_Goshawk's Guide to Herbology_. My favourite." The cretin grinned toothily as he opened it to the first page and cleared his throat. "The ancient art of Herbology was first practised many thousands of years ago by the earliest wizards, whose foraging techniques..."

_Fucking hell, is this what the Order does with its prisoners nowadays? Send in Longbottom to make them lose the will to live?_

It could have been days, _centuries_, but was probably no more than an hour later when the dormitory door was flung open to reveal the glowering figure of Severus Snape.

_Thank Merlin. Thank Salazar. Thank _fuck_._

In that moment, Draco was prepared to love, worship, _have the babies_ of the scowling man in the doorway if it meant an end to the drone of Neville Longbottom's reading voice.

"Longbottom, what exactly are you doing?"

The boy visibly shivered. He retrieved the book – _torture device_ – that he had dropped in terror at the professor's entrance. "I-I was reading, sir. To Malfoy. I thought he m-might be bored-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for the harassment of a fellow student."

_Justice_. Had his face been mobile, Draco would have shown off his most triumphant smirk.

Longbottom began to stutter a reply, but was quickly cut off. "Would you like to make it twenty points? And a detention? No? Then leave. Immediately."

It was the fastest that Draco had ever seen Longbottom move. His progress through the door was impeded by the appearance of Granger, who noticed his nervy, shaking posture – _he looks like he's about to wet himself_ – and offered him a pat on the arm and an encouraging smile. Draco tracked every movement with his newly active eyes.

With the idiot gone, Snape advanced on Draco and cast a diagnostic spell. "Well, Mr Malfoy, your vital signs appear to have stabilised-"

"His eyes," said Granger, closing the door and padding closer to the bed. "Professor, he's moving his eyes!"

Snape stilled. "An improvement?"

"Yes! They were fixed yesterday, staring straight ahead. Now he's moving them!"

Both were watching him closely, disbelievingly. Draco's discomfort at their scrutiny mingled with a growing sense of excitement.

_This is good. Holy fuck, this is excellent! Whatever they did last night is working. I'll be out of this disgusting pit soon, I can go home..._

Home. His brief bubble of euphoria burst violently. He probably didn't have a home anymore. Or parents, for that matter.

_Don't think about that. Don't think about that. Don't think about..._

"With such a speedy recovery-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy still has a long way to go. However, I will grant you that this is a very reassuring development."

Granger nodded obediently, but the disappointment on her face was plain to see. The sight of it provoked Draco into a rage.

_Oh, well, I'm very sorry that my curse is such a fucking inconvenience to you, Granger, when it's proving to be a lovely fucking holiday for me! Here I am, stuck in my own body, and more to the point, stuck with _you_, and _you're_ the one who's disappointed? My entire life is in fucking ruins, you prissy bitch, how dare you look at me like I've just stamped on your fucking cat..._

"Miss Granger, get out. You're upsetting the patient."

"But, sir! Honestly, how can I be-"

"Do as I say."

With a huff of indignation, Granger slanted them a glare and stalked out, slamming the door shut behind her. Now that the Mudblood was gone, Draco could focus his ill-temper on his professor.

_Bloody Legilimens bastard, coming in here and reading my mind, insinuating that I would be the least bit affected by anything Hermione fucking Granger has to say..._

"Are you quite finished?"

_No, not yet, as it happens. Look at you, standing there, wearing your ridiculous bat-wing cloak and pretending that last night you didn't just casually reveal that you had switched fucking sides!_

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Bat-wing cloak?"

_If I wasn't totally fucking paralysed, we'd be seeing if you could still look smug with my fist embedded in your face._

"Despite what you may think of me, however harshly you may judge my actions, I would have you know that ensuring your safety has always been one of my top priorities. Even without the Vow I made to your mother, I am committed to your well-being."

_Is she safe, at least?_

"I cannot give you any news of her. I have none."

_Bastard. How long have you been screwing my family over for the Order?_

"Your family needed no help of mine in _screwing itself over_. Now, if you're quite done with your mood swings, I'd like to get on with the original reason for my visit."

He moved to stand by the scarred old desk, depositing several bottles there, all filled with potions of various colours and consistencies.

"Your treatments. I don't know how well they'll work; my research is still in its early stages, but the progress you've already made seems rather promising."

_Very fucking promising._

Snape threw him a quelling look before he continued. "As you have already heard, I would not get my hopes up at this stage. There is no way of telling how long your recovery will take, if indeed there is a recovery at all. Miss Granger will be acting as your Healer. She has been given strict instructions as to dosages, timings and so forth. She will also be documenting any changes in your condition and reporting back to me."

_Fantastic. I'm the swotty mudblood's latest extra credit project._

The professor scoffed. "Might I remind you that that _swotty mudblood_ has agreed, at no small amount of inconvenience to herself, to change her schedules, alter her living arrangements and give up all of her free time to come and care for _you_, the boy who has bullied her mercilessly for years?"

_One hundred points to Gryffindor for possessing such a bleeding-heart do-gooder. It's not like I fucking well asked her to be here!_

"No, you didn't. Yet here she is, without complaint."

_Like hell is she here without complaint. Did she tell you that she'd burnt some of my clothes?_

The corner of Snape's mouth twitched. "In that case, I would advise staying on her good side. I will be back to check on you in a few days."

With that, he swept out of the room, immune to the daggers that Draco was glaring at him. It only took a few minutes for a determined-looking Granger to appear in the doorway.

_Here we fucking go._

* * *

_I can do this. Of course I can. I'll just pretend that he's not Malfoy. I'll just pretend that he's a stranger who needs my help, and not an evil little git that should've been drowned at birth. _

Hermione adopted her very best resolute expression - the one that Ron referred to as her Come-Hell-or-High-Water Face - and strode purposefully to the desk, selecting two of the bottles that Professor Snape had left for her and concentrating on what she'd need for her makeshift healing station.

She used her wand to Summon an occasional table from the Heads Common Room, which was neatly placed adjacent to the bed. Next came her ubiquitous bulging school bag. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax, and seated herself on the edge of the bed to face him.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy. I am Hermione Granger, and I will be your Healer throughout the rest of your stay in Gryffindor Tower."

He rolled his eyes and she favoured him with a haughty sniff. "Just trying to be professional. Would you prefer, 'Good morning, Malfoy, I'm Hermione Granger and my plan to throw you in the Black Lake as the Giant Squid's breakfast was briefly entertained before being vetoed'?"

He looked away. _Ooh, I'll bet he's fuming. _She hid her grin and tried to focus herself on the task at hand. Reaching into her bag, she extracted two plastic syringes and held them aloft for him to see.

"I don't know how familiar you'll be with these. In the Muggle world, they're commonly used to give oral medicine to children. Getting hold of them took some doing, but I thought it'd be better than me shoving glass bottles down your gullet."

He turned his gaze back to inspect them with narrowed eyes.

"You won't catch anything from them, Malfoy," she huffed.

The grey eyes narrowed further.

"If you're uncomfortable with my methods, I'd suggest writing a letter of complaint."

His eyes were practically slits now.

With a wholly un-Gryffindor sense of _schadenfreude_, Hermione picked up the first bottle and carefully measured out a dose. The green-black liquid smoked ominously.

"Skele-Gro," she explained. "You fell on the Astronomy Tower and broke your right arm. You were treated for it last night, and Madam Pomfrey insists you need a small amount of this to make sure it's fully healed. Harry told me it tastes just awful, although you won't need to worry about that."

She slid a little further up the bed. "I'm going to have to touch your face now. Do try your best to fend off my pesky Muggleborn germs."

Malfoy was strangely pliable beneath her fingers as she tipped his chin back and drew his lips apart. His stare was boring holes into her, no doubt in an effort to unnerve her. She ignored it, squirting the potion into his throat and waiting for the bobbing of his Adam's apple to indicate that he'd swallowed it reflexively.

_Good. One down, one to go._

The second syringe was soon filled with a viscous orange liquid and held up for his appraisal. "A blood-cleansing tincture. We studied these in fifth year, do you remember?"

He blinked once, reluctantly, and she gave him a nod before releasing it into his throat.

"It's highly unlikely that the _Dormite_ is being carried through your bloodstream, but every possibility needs to be eliminated."

Once he'd swallowed it, Hermione _Scourgified_ the syringes and positioned them on the table, fastidiously ensuring that they were straight and perpendicular to the bed. She quickly jotted down the timing and strengths of the doses in a notebook plucked from her bag, then turned her head to face him again with a sigh.

"I really don't want to do this next bit, but _apparently_ it's required of me." She recalled the horror she'd felt when Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, had outlined some of her new duties. "Trust me, it's going to be just as excruciating for me as it will be for you."

She stood, discreetly lowering her eyes, and aimed her wand at him.

"_Emoveo _Malfoy's clothes!"

The Removing Spell brought the grimy robes he'd been wearing into her waiting hands. _They're still warm._ She suppressed a girlish shriek and quickly threw them aside, pointing her wand at the pile of clean garments that Dobby had laid out.

"_Operite_ Malfoy."

Hermione didn't look up until the sound of rustling fabric had ended. Risking a glance at his face, she saw that he'd screwed his eyes shut tightly. His clean clothing was now, thankfully, all in place.

"Well, that's that done." She cleared her throat awkwardly. _I really hope that this is one of those traumatic events that becomes a repressed memory. _"Now for the rest."

Malfoy's eyes flew wide open, regarding her with mingled mortification and terror.

"It's nothing bad," she promised, choking on a laugh. "I can't imagine having to do anything worse than what I just did, but obviously _you_ can. _Accio_ Malfoy's wash-bag."

A small dragon hide bag, hideously expensive-looking and embossed with the initials _DLM_, floated out of the wardrobe and into Hermione's lap as she resumed her position on the bed. She opened it up and removed an ornately carved comb.

"Is this..._ivory?!_"

She received a firm blink in response.

"Isn't ivory illegal?"

Another blink, a slower one this time. Hermione guessed that he'd finally found a way to smirk without using his mouth.

"What happens to those elephants is barbaric," she muttered crossly, placing the comb in his silvery-blond hair and tapping it none-too-gently with her wand. It sprang to life and began fighting its way through the tangles. The stubble coating his pointy chin was vanished with a spell before she opened his mouth a little wider and shot in several tooth-cleaning and breath-freshening charms. _Once a dentist's daughter, always a dentist's daughter_, she thought wryly as she finished up his beauty regimen with a quick _Scourgify_ of his newly-combed hair.

"There we are, all done without harming anything other than my self-respect." She put his toiletry bag aside after a surreptitious inspection of the contents._ Just how many beauty products does a teenage boy need?_ She tutted and shook her head.

"I'm going to move you now, Malfoy. I've done some reading on the effects of being bedridden, and your position will need to be changed from time to time to stop you getting _bed sores_." She lazily flicked her wand and twisted him on the bed until he was securely laying on his left side.

With a _humph_ of satisfaction – _if I can't see his face, it's almost like he's not here! - _Hermione settled into one of the red-and-gold striped armchairs, swung her feet onto the edge of the bed and Summoned _An Incomplete Repository of Dark Magic Spells_ by Theophilus Grott. She checked her watch and sighed.

_Just three hours until his next dose._

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**A/N: So, there we have it. Draco Malfoy without his clothes on, and Hermione didn't even look. I would have. A lot. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! I continue to be amazed and astonished by the amount of people who are reading, following, favouriting and reviewing this story. Awkward hugs all round!**

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**Chapter 3: Strike**

"_Rennervate!"_

_Argh, what the fuck?!_

Draco's eyes shot open as he slammed back into consciousness, and he was immediately met with the sight of a certain female Weasley lounging in one of the armchairs at his bedside. Twirling her wand between her fingers, she was regarding him with a grin so gleeful it bordered on disturbing.

"Well, good morning, sunshine! Sleep well?"

He eyed her malevolently. As a matter of fact, he hadn't slept well at all, not that this idiotic bint would care. Being woken up every three hours during the night by a syringe-wielding, distressingly pyjama-clad Granger, doggedly narrating her every action to him, had hardly been conducive to a peaceful night's rest. And then there'd been the nightmares...

But he refused to dwell on those. Instead, he aimed the most venomous glare he could muster at the She-Weasel and concentrated on trying to make her spontaneously combust with the power of his mind.

She interrupted his efforts by speaking again. "It's my turn to babysit you, Malfoy. Isn't it marvellous? I finally get the opportunity to do something to you that I've wanted to do for years."

Draco grimaced inwardly. _I am not here for your perverted sexual gratification._ He wished vainly for the capability to give her an expletive-filled lecture on not touching what she couldn't afford.

He mentally cringed in expectation of an assault that never came. The ginger cow had merely lifted her wand with an exaggerated movement and shouted _"Colovaria!" _before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

_Salazar's crusty arse. She'd better not have done what I think she's done._

A few minutes later, with tears of mirth still rolling down her cheeks, the bitch _Accio'd_ a grubby old mirror over to the bed and, hiccuping, held it up to his face.

_She has. She fucking well has._

The face reflected in the mirror had purplish smudges of exhaustion underneath red-rimmed eyes. There were fading bruises on his cheekbones and temples in various shades of yellow and green, and the almost-healed grazes along his jaw and chin were delicately pink. The only colour that stood out to Draco, however, was the _Weasley-fucking-orange_ _hair_ on top of his head.

He seethed. _You can laugh now, bitch, but when this curse is lifted, you will be first on my list._

"It suits you, Malfoy," the Girl Weasel enthused. "But something's not quite right. Oh, I know what to do - _cresce capillus! Cincinnus!_" She cackled delightedly as Draco sprouted long, curling, _detestably red_ tresses. "That's much better. Now you look like one of us!"

Draco was apoplectic. _I would rather be dipped in gravy and thrown to a herd of horny hippogriffs than look like 'one of you', you repellent little skank. When I'm back on my feet, I will find you, and by the time I'm finished, there won't be enough of you left to bury._

The little hag remained unaffected by his mental threats and was cheerfully casting a temporary 'Draco Malfoy loves Harry Potter' tattoo on his right forearm when Draco was suddenly hit by the worst, most excruciating pain he had ever felt.

* * *

Hermione slammed _341 Fates to be Avoided_ back onto the table and let out a frustrated growl.

"This is maddening! Nothing on the _Dormite_ except for a vague recommendation of not getting cursed with it. How in God's name are we supposed to develop a cure with only the tiniest, most irrelevant scraps of information?"

Professor Snape slowly looked up from his desk and sneered at her across the empty classroom he had commandeered as his research centre. "Believe it or not, Miss Granger, but solutions to Dark curses are not often handily signposted and detailed for your convenience. One must find the right references and learn to read between the lines."

He levitated _A Compendium of Evil Wizarding Deeds_ and dropped it with a thump onto her table. She sighed and began to flip through its musty, dog-eared pages. "Decapitation of unicorns... disease... dismemberment spells... that's disgusting, was it absolutely necessary to include pictures of that? Ah, yes, _Dormite Vivere. 'A foule olde curse, practised by those blackest at hearte. So perverse we dare not speake of it_.' Oh, thank you, that was enormously helpful."

Her head snapped up as a loud thud sounded from the professor's direction. "Sir? Sir!"

Snape was writhing on the floor, clutching his left forearm, his face a study in agony. _The Dark Mark._ His usually sallow cheeks were paper-white, his features gaunt and drawn with pain. The tortured near-screams he was emitting were terrifying.

Hermione rushed over, unable to keep her building panic from affecting her tone. "Is it a summoning, sir? What can I do? Tell me what to do!"

"Not summoning... punishment," he gasped hoarsely, his body spasming violently. "Draco. Go... to Draco."

"But, sir-"

"Foolish child. Help Draco."

Hermione nodded jerkily, tearing out of the classroom and sprinting through the corridors, heedless of the looks of fright and confusion shot at her by her fellow students. She reached the entrance to the Gryffindor Head Dorm in record time, and breathlessly gibbered the password to let her in.

A panic-stricken Ginny burst from the bedroom, shuddering and on the verge of tears. "Thank Godric, Hermione! I don't know what's wrong! I wasn't doing anything _bad_ to him, but he just started..." She broke off with a hysterical whimper.

"It wasn't you," she reassured her quickly. "Come on, we need to help him." She pulled her friend into the bedroom and stopped dead in her tracks.

In front of her eyes was one of the most horrific sights she'd ever witnessed. Malfoy was levitating three feet from the surface of the bed, convulsing and twisting in a way that almost didn't seem human. His eyes were wide open, terrified and pleading, the Dark Mark on his forearm was shining malignly, the surrounding skin a livid red. She watched, petrified, as the macabre tattooed snake slithered sinisterly over his flesh.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, battling against the wild wave of nausea that threatened to overcome her.

"What do we do?" Ginny asked uncertainly.

Hermione willed herself to move, forcibly turning herself away from the harrowing display in front of her. "Knock him out. We need to knock him out." She rushed over to the bedside table, her shaking hands sending the potion bottles flying. The few seconds it took for her to locate the right phials seemed like an eternity. "Help me get him down!"

Ginny leapt onto the bed and grabbed hold of Malfoy's legs, but his torso was still afloat and twisting savagely. She sat on his knees, but the convulsions were so strong that he was close to bucking her off of him.

"I can't hold him!"

"Yes, you can." Hermione pulled down his arms and straddled his chest, leaning her knees on his elbows to keep him as still as possible. His head was jolting so manically that she was afraid his neck might break, but she grasped his chin, opening his mouth and emptying the full bottle of industrial-strength Pain Potion down his throat. It was joined by a Dreamless Sleep and Calming Draught mixture so potent that it would act as a muscle relaxant.

She lifted her gaze to his, meeting huge wintry eyes clouded with tears. She gave him a wobbly, soothing smile. "It's okay, Malfoy. It'll be over soon. Shh, just relax, relax." The potions were already kicking in, and his spasms were slowly becoming less fierce. "There, see? Over soon, just relax." His lashes fluttered, his lids lowering. The body beneath her gave a few last tremors before falling completely onto the bed. She slid onto the floor, her legs too weak to hold her, and covered her face with her hands.

Ginny crawled down beside her. "_What_, in Merlin's name, was _that_?_"_

Hermione removed her hands reluctantly and drew a quivering breath. "That was Voldemort's retribution. It's surprising that it's taken this long, really."

"How did you know?"

"I was with Professor Snape when he... Bugger! Snape! He's having a similar treatment down on the third floor, not as bad as this, but-"

Ginny stood quickly and grabbed a handful of bottles from the table. "I'll go. You stay here. I don't think I could handle it if he started again."

"Thank you."

With a still-shaking hand, Hermione pushed tangled red hair from Malfoy's sweat-soaked forehead.

* * *

When a very groggy Draco finally came to, it was to a world shrouded in darkness. He felt a spike of bone-deep panic, recalling with a sudden awful clarity every single moment of what had happened to him, and worried that he had been left blinded by the attack. As the cloud cover in the night sky rolled back, allowing a sliver of moonlight to shine through the window and penetrate the room, Draco felt a rush of gratitude stronger than any other he'd ever felt in his life.

Blinking rapidly to acclimatise himself to the gloom, his gaze settled on a figure half-slumped at the desk in the corner. _Granger._ Mudblood Granger, one of the banes of his existence. Mudblood Granger, unbearable harpy, the walking, talking reference library of Hogwarts. Mudblood Granger, the girl who had saved him.

Draco wondered if he would have done the same, had their situations been reversed. Would he have gone out of his way to help her? Would he have held her down, risking injury to himself, and then try to reassure her as she slipped, scared and in pain, into unconsciousness?

_Probably not._

She'd been on the receiving end of a lot of shit from him over the years – _mostly deserved,_ he reminded himself – but she'd still come to his aid without a second thought. Not because she had no other choice, not because she stood to gain something from it, but because she judged it to be the right thing to do.

_Very tricky business, knowing the right thing to do_, he mused tiredly.

Granger was stirring at the desk, grumbling to herself as she sat upright and rubbed a sleepy hand over her face. When she noticed Draco, she crossed the room to sit in the ghastly Gryffindor-striped chair at his bedside.

"You're awake," she stated, stifling a yawn. "I thought I'd given you enough potions to floor a troll for a day. Any residual pain?"

He blinked twice.

"Good." She cast a non-verbal _Lumos_, sending the candles roaring into life. Picking up the notebook from the table, she made a few notes before speaking again.

"Professor Snape was _punished_ too, although his attack wasn't as severe as yours. He's a little weak, but absolutely refusing any help. I thought he was going to cast an Unforgivable on me when I suggested he have a few hours' rest."

Draco scoffed internally. He'd known Snape his whole life and had never seen him sit still for more than five minutes. His amusement ended abruptly when he felt an alarming wetness sliding down his left arm. He glanced down at it as best he could, terrified that another punishment from the Dark Lord was about to begin.

Granger furrowed her brows at his determined squint before cottoning on to the source of his discomfort. "Oh, that," she said absent-mindedly, reaching over and untying the bandage wrapped around his forearm. "Your Mark was swollen and bleeding, so I put a Muggle ice-pack on it before I bound it. Yes, another piece of Muggle equipment that you will irrationally object to, but healing spells weren't working. The Mark was totally resistant to... Hang on. You... you can feel it?"

She stared, dumbfounded, when he confirmed it with a single blink. _Yes, I can feel it. I can fucking feel it!_

Spluttering something unintelligible, she laid her hand on his right arm. "And this? Can you feel this too?"

Draco blinked once again, forgetting in all his excitement to protest at being touched by a mudblood.

"But this is extraordinary! After what you've gone through today, you should be regressing, not improving! Unless..." Granger bit her lip, and Draco could virtually hear the cogs turning in her head. She pulled her chair a fraction closer to the bed, her face serious.

"Unless it's something _to do with_ what you've gone through today. Think about it, Malfoy. It took Voldemort the best part of _two days_ to react to the failure of your mission. Greyback and that mental Lestrange cow would've reported back to him immediately. What if it's taken him this long to get to you because he had to figure out a way to partially lift the curse first? There'd be no point in him torturing you if you couldn't feel it."

She leaned back in the chair, drumming her fingers impatiently against the armrest as she thought.

Draco's mind whirled. _It can be done. The curse can be lifted. Holy fucking Merlin._

"If Voldemort can do it, so can we," she asserted decisively. "In the meantime, he's been careless enough to not fully reinstate the _Dormite_, which is good news. I'll speak to Professor Snape about this is the morning. Well, in a few hours, anyway. There's no way in hell I'm going down to the dungeons at 3am."

Draco rolled his eyes. _But of course, Granger. Like the Slytherins have nothing better to do than patrol the corridors in the middle of the night for stray mudbloods._

She pushed back her chair and stood. "I'm going to bed." She'd got halfway across the room before she turned back to face him uncertainly. "Are you comfortable? Warm enough?"

Surprised, he blinked once in response.

"Want some more Dreamless Sleep potion?"

Draco considered it for a moment, but decided against it. He wanted to stay awake as long as possible, savouring the slight scratch of the well-worn blankets against his previously unresponsive skin.

Granger raised a puzzled eyebrow but didn't comment. She was almost out of the door before she turned back yet again.

"By the way, Malfoy, while you were asleep I changed your hair back to normal. Shame, really. The resemblance to Bill Weasley was uncanny." She gave a decidedly malicious little chuckle before closing the door behind her.

_Fucking shrew._

* * *

**A/N:**

_**Colovaria –**_** a canon spell to change hair colour.**

_**Cresce capillus – **_**grow hair, non-canon.**

_**Cincinnus**_** – to grow curls/ringlets, non-canon.**

**The books mentioned are not canon either, merely products of my slightly deranged imagination.**

**Aaanyway, this chapter took a bit longer than I'd anticipated. The character interaction needed a little bit of tweaking. I'm trying my best to keep them in character, but what do you think? I don't want any Dramione action to feel rushed. Please leave me a review, I love them so much :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Think**

The next morning dawned bright. From the corner of his eye, Draco could see a summer sky that was almost glaringly blue, the fleeting wisps of cloud which occasionally swirled past the window doing nothing to diminish the beauty of the day. _Good weather for quidditch_, he thought idly. His participation in the sport had been minimal since the beginning of the school year - _attempting to murder the Headmaster is enough of an extra-curricular to be getting on with – _but it was only now that Draco realised how much he missed it. The exhilarating freedom of soaring through the air on his beloved broom with the wind chafing his face, showing off the superb execution of his dives and manoeuvres, listening to the dull roar of the crowd below on match days... _Well, I suppose that's all over for me now, isn't it? Yet another regrettable consequence of my special fucking task._

Speaking of regrettable consequences, he turned his eyes away from the window and towards the girl who was fast asleep at his bedside. It appeared that Granger hadn't stayed in her own bed for long; he'd woken up to find her curled in the armchair, wrapped in a duvet and snoring gently with her mouth ajar. Draco wondered offhandedly how many people had ever seen her this unguarded. In the classroom, she always wore that slightly unhinged expression of fierce concentration. In the corridors, she was either scolding Potter and Weasley or rolling her eyes and smiling, however grudgingly, at them. And for him, of course, and him alone, was reserved that lofty, disdainful scowl that invariably managed to make him see red.

There was no getting away from it - Granger was a snotty, arrogant cow. She was pushy, self-righteous and possessed of a personality so disagreeable that it was downright abrasive. She was a mudblood, a barnacle upon the arse of wizarding society, nothing more than the fortunate descendant of some disgusting Squib and therefore an unacceptable addition to the magical gene pool. She and the rest of her kind should have been rounded up before they even got to open their Hogwarts letters.

She was all of this and more. But now...

Now she was _also_ the girl who was looking after him, despite the fact that he'd tried to kill the headmaster she so revered. She was the girl who was actively seeking to free him from his curse, all the while knowing exactly what he thought of her, knowing that he wouldn't lift a finger to help her if it was the other way around. Hell, he'd even tried to _Crucio_ her best friend at one point, and she had still come running to save him from a similar fate.

That foolhardy selflessness, such a fundamentally _Gryffindor _attribute, was generally rather distasteful to a realist like himself. But, for the moment, he couldn't help but feel thankful for it.

And thankful to _her._

He still hated her, of course. Merlin's balls, did he hate her. Nothing could convince him that she wasn't one of the most ill-natured people he had ever had the displeasure of knowing. He doubted he would ever see her as anything other than an inferior creature who didn't deserve the magic she'd been blessed with, but _for now_, he couldn't quite bring himself to wish her dead.

_Extremely charitable of me, though I do say so myself. _

Just as Draco was vowing never to reveal this moment of weakness to another living soul, he realised that Granger was on the verge of waking, releasing a cacophony of ridiculous snuffling noises before opening her eyes blearily.

"Morning, Malfoy," she mumbled. "Need a wee."

_Well, that's just fucking lovely, Granger. So refined._

She stumbled her way out of his room, returning ten minutes later, fully dressed and presumably relieved.

"I slept in the chair because I wasn't comfortable leaving you alone, not after yesterday," she began without preamble, marching over to study his Mark. "Swelling's almost gone. Looks like it'll be fine. Well, I _say_ fine. It will look as fine as the calling card of a genocidal maniac _can_ look."

Draco eyed her coldly. _Shut up, you overbearing harpy._

She let go of his arm without warning, Draco marvelling at the sensation of it hitting the bed, and her hand flew to her skirt pocket and fished out a galleon. _One of those coins she made for Potter's little band of misfits. _Draco remembered them well. After all, he'd shamelessly ripped off the idea when he'd needed to _Imperio _Madame Rosmerta...

_Another one of my spectacular failures._

He was saved from the threat of maudlin recollections by the sight of Granger grinning ominously at him.

_Oh, fuck. What now?_

"I need to update Professor Snape on your situation," she explained, her tone of blithe innocence belied by the wicked glint in her eyes. "Your babysitter has just arrived."

Draco heard shuffling outside the door, before a female voice called out. "Hermione?'

_If that's the foul Weasley slag again, I promise to retract my earlier statement and throttle you at the first available opportunity. _

"In here, Luna!"

_Luna? The only Luna at Hogwarts is... No. No, no, no._

"Hello, Draco Malfoy. You've a Wrackspurt on your ear."

* * *

Hermione congratulated herself on making it as far as the corridor outside the dormitory before the raucous laughter bubbling in her throat escaped. Her sudden burst of amusement startled a couple of passing Gryffindor second-years, who shot her glances of pure fright and sped up their pace, narrowly avoiding a collision with Seamus Finnegan, who merely raised a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"Any particular reason you're terrorising the young ones?"

The remark sent Hermione into another fit of sniggers. _Yes, I told Luna Lovegood that Malfoy would be extremely interested in her theories about Wrackspurts before locking them in a room together. His eye started twitching and it may have been the best moment of my life._

None of this, of course, could be relayed to Seamus, who was still watching her with a confused smile. The Irish boy was not among the four Hogwarts students who knew the true nature of Hermione's "secret project", having only been told that she'd been moved to the Heads dorm and excused from classes to help the Order with some highly classified research. Her merry mood sobered abruptly when she imagined the carnage that would ensue should the rest of the school find out that she was shielding a Death Eater in her new rooms. She shook her head.

"Just remembering Neville's boggart from third year."

Seamus snorted. "Unforgettable, ain't it? I'm glad that Snape isn't in today, otherwise I'd be imagining him in a dress through the entire lesson."

Hermione stiffened. "Snape's not in?"

_That can't be good. Why isn't he in?_

"Nah. McGonagall made the announcement at breakfast. Come to think of it, Dumbledore weren't there either. They're probably out on Order business."

"Probably," she agreed distantly. "I'll see you later, Shay. I need to see Professor McGonagall."

"Okay," he replied. She could see the effort it was costing him not to question her, and she was grateful to him. "Might see you in the common room?"

Nodding in what she hoped was a convincing manner, Hermione patted his arm playfully and concentrated on walking away sedately. When she rounded the corner, she took off at a run.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall cast a wary, if reluctantly impressed, eye over the map she had confiscated from Harry Potter and Ron Weasley on the night they had left the school. Expelling a gusty sigh, she had barely noticed a fast-approaching set of footprints labelled _Hermione Granger_ when the door of her office was flung open by her favourite student, wild of hair and short of breath.

"Professor! I need to… Where is…"

Minerva lifted her wand, closing the door and locking it, placing a Silencing spell on the room and gesturing for Hermione to sit with her free hand.

"You wish to know where you can find Professor Snape."

The girl nodded eagerly, taking a leather seat and pulling it as close as possible to the desk.

"He and Professor Dumbledore are not on school grounds. They are attending a meeting at Order Headquarters and should be back by tomorrow. In the meantime, any concerns you may have are to be brought to me."

Hermione shot her a small smile. "I don't have any _concerns_ as such, it's just about Malfoy-"

Minerva interrupted sharply. "He is well?"

"Yes. I mean, he's as well as can be expected. It's the curse, you see. I think we might have had a breakthrough."

Holding up a hand to stop her, the professor regarded her student with a tired expression. "Miss Granger, you must forgive me for cutting you off so rudely. If Mr Malfoy is not in any imminent danger, I would thank you not to waste my time with a discussion about him."

"But, Professor-"

"But nothing." Minerva shuffled papers on her desk and clasped her hands primly over them, a nervous gesture that was jarring to somebody who usually considered herself above such things. "I find that I am wholly uninterested in any progress Mr Malfoy has made. Any sympathy he receives will not come from me."

She heard her student's quiet gasp and avoided meeting her eye.

"Allow me to explain. Mr Malfoy is the rotten, twisted son of a rotten, twisted man. His actions a few nights ago put the entire school in danger, and he planned to take the life of one of the best men to have ever drawn breath, a man that has been my dearest friend for countless years. Despite Albus's views on the subject, I… I do not think I can ever forgive Mr Malfoy for what he has done. I cannot be so merciful."

Silence reigned for a few moments, and Minerva felt it draining her.

"I understand, Professor."

It was said quietly, unconvincingly, but the fact that it was said at all soothed her. She cleared her throat and chanced a glance at Hermione, who seemed to be studying her shoes intently. Feeling every last year of her age, Minerva retrieved a book from a desk drawer and slid it across to the girl.

"Professor Dumbledore instructed me to deliver this to you today."

Hermione's took hold of the book with a whispered _thank you._ She immediately flicked to the page that had been marked with a scrap of purple ribbon. Her head soon shot up in alarm.

"_Thought Transfer?!"_

* * *

It was a weary-looking Granger that eventually trudged into the bedroom, almost an hour after she had abandoned him in the company of this madwoman.

_It truly is a day of firsts. First time I haven't wanted to kill Granger on sight. First time I've been relieved at her presence. Is this what it's like to be a hippy-dippy Hufflepuff?_

The ditzy cow at his bedside broke off mid-sentence to bestow an enormous, other-worldly smile on the newest addition to the slumber party from hell.

"You're back, Hermione," the future inmate of the Janus Thickey ward commented needlessly. _We've all got fucking eyes, moron._ "And you've brought some Wrackspurts with you. Not to worry, the Dantylews will clear them up in a trice."

"Dantylews?"

_No, Granger, no!_

To her credit, she seemed to realise her mistake instantly, turning away to conceal a pained grimace.

Loony fucking Lovegood beamed at her. "Dantylews! Have you never heard of them? Some Elder wizards say that they represent illumination and the will to survive, because they cluster around people who are healing. Draco is covered in them."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the dimwit's casual use of his first name

"Malfoy isn't healing, though. Not really."

_Fuck off, Granger._

"No, I suppose not. But then, not all healing is physical, is it?"

_Fuck off, lunatic._

Granger hummed ambiguously, humouring this dunderhead for some inexplicable reason. If he'd had the ability to, Draco would have lost no time telling in no uncertain terms where she could shove her bonkers ideas on these ridiculous made-up creatures, mentally challenged idiot or not.

"That's wonderful, Luna. Thank you for staying with him for me, it was very kind of you."

Despite clearly being from another planet, Lovegood was familiar enough with normal wizarding interactions to acknowledge this as her cue to leave. "It really wasn't a problem. I've enjoyed my time with Draco."

Granger, being an unmannerly sow, didn't even have the grace to cover up her amused huff. "I'm sure he's enjoyed his time with you, too. Before you go, I wonder if I could ask another favour?"

"Of course. Anything for such a good friend."

Draco saw Granger look momentarily startled at being described as a _good_ _friend_.

"Er… I'm writing to Headquarters tonight. If you could let all the non-coin-carrying DA members know, and tell them I'll include their letters with mine if they give them to Ginny by this evening, I'd really appreciate it."

The daft one nodded sagely. "Certainly. News from loved ones encourages happy gwennies."

Having imparted more of her indecipherable wisdom, Loony practically skipped from the room. Granger hovered by the door until the sound of a portrait hole closing signalled her departure from the dormitory.

"She's a very nice girl," she said suddenly, _decisively_. "But her conversation can be a little… taxing. Sometimes."

_Taxing? Is that what you call it? Your taste in babysitters had better improve by the time you have children._

Draco unwillingly pictured a pack of half-blood ginger brats, with rats nests on top of their heads, freckles on their faces and third-hand robes on their backs. _Urgh. What a vomit-inducing image_.

Granger was at the wardrobe now, dispassionately grabbing a handful of clothes and throwing them on the bed. She shielded her eyes.

"_Emoveo! Operite!"_

_Fucking hell, Granger! A little warning would be nice!_

He grumbled, but Draco couldn't deny that the feeling of clean clothes sliding over his skin felt good. He closed his eyes to enjoy the sensation.

"Malfoy, there's something I need to talk to you about."

She had his full attention now. Anxiety hit him like a tidal wave.

_What? Fucking what? Don't just stand there chewing your fucking lip, Granger! Tell me._

When his clothes were all in place, she moved to sit on the bed, enlarging a shrunken book from her pocket and showing it to him. He recognised the title as an ancient form of French, and it looked as if it had come straight from the Restricted Section.

"Professor Dumbledore sent this to me. He has highlighted a particular spell. The Thought Transfer spell. Are you familiar with it?"

His worry abating slightly - _Merlin, I thought something terrible had happened. It's only a fucking book - _he blinked once.

"No? I'm not surprised. Even I have only ever come across the vaguest mentions of it. It was used a long time ago, by the wizards who tried to integrate with Muggles. In its original form, it was a method of communication without a Floo or a wand. Of course, you can probably guess that it ended up being involved in master/slave bonds. But you're intelligent enough to get the gist."

_Yes, I get the fucking gist. I would've got it without all the patronising crap, too._

"I think Professor Dumbledore wants us to use it. It would mean that you could communicate any changes in your condition, or call for help if there's another… attack." She pulled on her ear absently. "I don't know if it's the right thing to do. It makes sense, but neither of us are going to be totally comfortable with the idea."

Was he comfortable with it? Draco considered it. If, Salazar forbid, the Dark Lord instigated another round of Torture the Blood Traitor, he'd want to be able to summon her immediately. There was no two ways about it: if it happened again, he'd need to contact her immediately. It could take hours for her to come back next time. Then there was the prospect of living in Granger's head rent-free. He could say what he liked to her, and she'd have no way to shut him up… that was very appealing.

"The casting of the spell would involve a form of blood bond, too. You'd have to wear something on your skin that had my blood on it, and vice versa."

_Oh. Fuck._

Seventeen years. For seventeen years, it had been impressed upon him that Muggle blood was intrinsically foul. It was full of contaminants, carrying generations' worth of filth. In a concentrated dose, his father had assured him, it could even prove fatal to a pureblood wizard.

Draco watched Granger speculatively. She was fidgeting with the book in her lap, half-heartedly smoothing out its age-creased pages. If she knew this spell would be damaging to him, she wouldn't even entertain the thought. He knew enough about Gryffindors, enough about _her_, to be absolutely convinced of that. The way she had come charging to his rescue yesterday had demonstrated that, apart from mentally scarring him by wandering around in her pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown, she meant him no harm.

_Does that mean that Father was wrong, then? _Draco felt sick. Such thoughts were dangerously close to familial disloyalty. Questioning a father's authority, especially a father like Lucius Malfoy, simply wasn't done in their circles. Pureblood society was never slow to disown the wayward children who defied their parents in any way. It was brutal, but that's how it was done. A father's word was law.

_My father's word is law. Except… Father's word doesn't mean as much when he's bowing and scraping to a deranged half-blood, does it?_

Draco was shocked at his mind finally giving words to feelings he'd repressed for years. He was even more shocked when he sought out Granger's eyes and blinked.

_Yes. Fuck it, just do it. Yes._

* * *

Hermione squinted. "Did you… say _yes?_"

_No, he can't have done. Must've been an accident._

There was another deliberate, definite blink.

_Holy Mother of God._

"You're agreeing to the spell, even though it could mean an invasion of privacy, even with the...blood thing?"

He rolled his eyes before signalling his assent again.

_I really, really wasn't expecting that. I mean... what?!_

Hermione was aware that she was gaping at him. _Come on, Hermione. Pull yourself together and stop acting like a halfwit._ "I'm, er... I'm going to need that, then."

She gestured at the silver ring he wore on his right hand. When he blinked once in consent, she twisted it from his finger and placed it on the bed, where it was joined by a golden locket from around her neck. The locket had been a childhood gift from her parents. She'd filled it with pictures of them when she'd started Hogwarts and had worn it ever since. _Always here, always close to my heart._ Taking it off to be used as a conduit into a Death Eater's mind... Hermione couldn't decide if it was more ironic or sickening. Transfiguring a spare quill into a penknife and _Scourgifying_ it, she pushed those disquieting thoughts aside and concentrated on the instructions of the spell.

"I'll prick our fingertips and touch them to the jewellery. After I've said the incantation, we put the jewellery back on, and the spell should take effect."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed Malfoy's surprisingly warm hand in hers, pressing the blade into their index fingers until she felt the skin break. She quickly pressed their linked digits onto the ring and locket, smearing them with their mingled blood. Releasing him, she gathered the spellbook and her wand.

"_Votre sang et le mien, comme un seul. Vous dans mon esprit, moi dans le vôtre."_

With unsteady hands she slid the ring back onto Malfoy's finger and re-clasped the locket around her neck, dripping. The effect was instantaneous. Threads of magical golden light swirled benignly between them, emanating from every drop of their alloyed blood and connecting them. Hermione was transfixed by their brilliant, gleaming quality, registering a rising nervousness as the strands of light straightened into a bridge between her sternum, where the locket was vibrating gently, and the middle finger of Malfoy's right hand. Her heart pounded almost painfully when the threads began to disappear. She stared, dumbfounded, at the fading streamers, incapable of tearing her gaze away.

Only a few moments passed before she heard him.

"_For fuck's sake, Granger, wake up. I'm about to bleed out here."_

* * *

**A/N:**

**So. Yeah. That's a new development, isn't it?**

**The French in the spell loosely translates as _Your blood and mine, together as one, you in my mind and me in yours_. **

**I hated writing Luna from Draco's POV in this chapter. She's one of my favourite characters in the series, but I didn't think Draco would be fully appreciative of her awesomeness. Sad, but true.**

**The creatures she mentioned are not canon (apart from Wrackspurts, obvs). Dantylew is a corruption of _Dant y Llew_, which is Welsh for 'dandelion'. Dandelions are traditionally associated with healing, progression and ultimate survival. I liked the parallels with my Draco, so I worked them into the story. Gwennie is another corruption of a Welsh word, this time the verb 'to smile'. When you say 'gwenu' in a Welsh accent, you have to stretch your mouth into a sort-of grin, which is a fact that has always amused me. Yeah, I'm weird like that.**

**Please let me know what you thought. I've been super nervous about this chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**The italics in quote marks in this chapter denote a Transferred Thought. If you think it's a little confusing, take heart in the fact that I do too – and the fact that _it won't be needed for much longer._**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Bored**

"_Granger, I'm bored."_

Hermione gave a loud groan of protest and turned over in her bed.

"_Damn it all, Granger! You can't ignore me!"_

"_Go 'way, Malfoy. M'tired."_

"_I'm not. And if I have to suffer insomnia, so do you."_

"_I think not."_

"_I think so."_

"_I think not."_

_"I think so_."

Growling, Hermione threw off her bedcovers and stomped into Malfoy's room.

"Stop using the bloody spell to annoy me, you unbearable arse! It's four in the morning! I was asleep!"

"_I'd reassure you that you don't need the beauty sleep, but then I'd be lying."_

"That's it!" she bellowed, marching over to his bedside table.

"_What the fuck are you doing with that syringe thing? Is that Extra Strength Sleeping Draught? You can't drug me, surely that goes against whatever ethical bullshit you Gryffindors go weak at the knees over. No, don't you dare! Get it out of my mouth! You cow. When I'm better... I'll make you... into shoes."_

Smiling sleepily at the threat, Hermione fumbled back to her bedroom. She wrapped herself in the still-warm blankets and released a contented sigh.

_Ah, lovely silence._

* * *

It was dinnertime. Hermione had been looking forward to sitting in the Great Hall with her friends all day, a chance to pretend that everything was normal – _well, as normal as life at Hogwarts can be_ – and that she didn't have to share her quarters with a currently comatose Death Eater. She was about to demolish the last of her mashed potato when she heard it: a deafening roar that made her drop her fork and almost fall off the bench.

"_GRANGER! I AM AWAKE!"_

She dived under the table to retrieve – and _Scourgify_ – her cutlery. _"Jesus Christ, Malfoy! You scared the living daylights out of me."_

"_Did I?" _She imagined that he'd be smirking if he could. _"Your nerves aren't what they used to be, are they?"_

Hermione resumed her seat and silently mourned her lost forkful of potato. _"Idiot. Don't think I won't get the Sleeping Draught again."_

She heard him tutting. _"Now, now. You know as well as I do that you can't dose me up with it for another few hours. During which time I can find plenty of ways to punish you."_

Neville sent her a puzzled look when she sniggered. _"And how do you plan on doing that?"_

"_By irritating you." _The voice in her head took on a dull, monotonous tone. _"Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a spectacularly unattractive troll named Germione."_

"_Germione?"_

_"Yes, Germione. Don't interrupt. Germione was a fearsome beast, cursed with the most enormous teeth. Her hair was monstrous in size, it ate any comb that dared go near it..."_

"_Stop it, you twerp."_

"Hermione?"

Ginny was looking at her rather oddly. Hermione tapped her forehead surreptitiously, hoping she would understand the signal. They'd discussed the latest development earlier.

The redhead leaned closer. "What's he doing?"

"Rambling."

"_Germione lugged her unappealing carcass from town to town, exiled from the society of all worthy people due to her hideous appearance and frightening lack of social skills. She eventually trespassed into the Dragon Kingdom, where she caused mayhem. The Prince of the Dragons was sent to slay her. He was an uncommonly handsome man, blessed with astoundingly beautiful hair that gleamed in the sunshine."_

Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice. Ginny thumped her on the back painfully.

"_First, the Dragon Prince slew the two undesirable companions that Germione had picked up along the way, a scruffy ginger weasel and an impossibly arrogant black-haired mole."_

She cast her eyes heavenwards. _Oh, for the love of..._

"_They were no match for the Prince, what with his superior strength, intellect and personal hygiene."_

"_Malfoy..."_

_"You're interrupting again, and that's just rude. Didn't your Muggle mother teach you any manners? As I was saying, the Prince made short work of her irritating little associates before turning on the terrifying she-beast. He took his trusty sword in hand-"_

"An act which was no doubt extremely familiar to him?"

"_Amazing. Really fucking classy. I'm surprised that sparkling wit of yours hasn't won you more fans, you... owl!"_

Hermione scoffed. _"That wasn't a very imaginative insult."_

"_No, Granger, it wasn't an insult,"_ he drawled. _"It was a statement. A fucking owl just flew in through the window you so carelessly left open."_

_Oh my god_. She inhaled sharply and rose without a word, oblivious to the curious glances she was receiving from the rest of the Gryffindor table. Ginny grabbed her hand.

Relaxing her posture with an almost visible effort, she turned. "I've got a headache," she trilled lightly. "Do you mind walking me to my room, Gin?"

Hermione would forever applaud Ginny's quick wits and superb acting skills. "I don't mind at all," she replied smoothly, with barely a flicker of question in her eyes. "We'd better get you upstairs. You're probably getting a migraine from all that reading."

They linked arms and took measured steps through the Great Hall, Hermione studiously ignoring the hushed ripple of whispers that followed their progress. The iron grip Ginny had on her elbow told her that she wasn't impervious to them either, but her face betrayed nothing but mild concern for her friend.

_Thank God I've got one of the subtler Weasleys at my side._

It was only when they'd nearly reached Gryffindor Tower that Ginny dropped her calm and collected facade. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"An owl in the Head Dorms."

"An owl?" She blinked rapidly. "Is it from...?"

Hermione held up a finger and quickened her pace. "Shh! I don't know. Let's find out."

"_Salazar's wrinkly ballsack, Granger! Are you coming to get this poxy bird before it shits all over my hand or not?"_

"Coming, dear," she simpered in reply, sickly-sweet.

Ginny gave a small gasp of laughter. "You said that out loud."

"Oh. I'll try again."

"_I'm on my bloody way, you muppet."_

* * *

"_And what, pray tell, is a muppet?"_

In the absence of a response, Draco turned his attention to the owl that had made itself comfortable on his right forearm. Its talons were digging into his skin a little more firmly than was absolutely necessary, and Draco wasn't slow to mentally categorise this bird as a complete arsehole.

_Like its owner._

Oh, yes, this was undoubtedly Potter's owl. He'd recognised it as soon as it had swooped in through the window in a flamboyant flurry of beady amber eyes and lily-white wings. The reproachful hoot it had aimed at him before settling down to gouge his flesh had confirmed it. Draco watched the nasty little bugger thoughtfully – _why do all these __bloody animals like taking chunks out of my bloody arm?__ \- _not failing to observe the large, thick envelope tied to its spindly leg.

_There's been no sign of Potter or his ugly ginger sidekick since I got here. Now this bloody thing has turned up, obviously looking for Granger, but content to maul me in the meantime. Didn't Granger send off a shitload of letters to the Order yesterday?_

His train of thought was lost when the girl in question barrelled through the door, closely followed by a ginger sidekick of her very own. He idly wondered if the Weasley parents were making ends meet by pimping out their children as accomplices and chaperons.

Granger, being slightly quicker on the uptake than her impoverished little chum, stepped forward to relieve the bird of its burden. It butted against her hand familiarly. "Hello, Hedwig," she crooned. "You beautiful girl. Why don't you go up to the Owlery for a rest?"

The feathery bastard took off, flexing its damnably sharp claws into Draco's arm one last time for good measure.

"Open it, Hermione," said the She-Weasel softly. Granger broke the envelope's seal, sending a dozen smaller, rolled-up pieces of parchment tumbling to the floor. She scooped them up and set them on the table.

"This one's for Neville," she murmured. "One for Seamus – I think that's Dean's handwriting, he'll be so pleased – and one for the Patil twins. Luna, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan. One for Hagrid," she waved it at her friend. "Perfumed stationary! Probably from Madame Maxime. Two for you, Ginny, and three for me."

Draco saw their faces light up. _The plot thickens_. The youngest Weasley took the parchments addressed to her with hands that were decidedly unsteady.

"D'you mind if I read them in your common room?"

"Take as long as you need."

_Don't rush back__. Your hair clashing is with the décor and it's giving me a migraine._

Granger watched her leave before sitting heavily in one of the armchairs.

"_Who'd bother writing to you?"_

"More people than would bother writing to you," she replied distractedly, perusing the contents of a small scrap of ratty parchment with her surname scribbled on the back. She scowled at the paper and _Incendio'd_ it, brushing the ash daintily from her fingertips. "From Professor Snape. He's staying on for another day or two to investigate some leads on the curse. He is intrigued by your improvement, but I am not to bother him again, blah, blah, blah."

The second note she picked up was barely longer than the first, but she looked happier to receive it. She read it once, twice, three times before folding it neatly and placing it in the breast pocket of her shirt. She was smiling, but Draco suspected that she might have tears in her eyes.

_Interesting._

Granger unrolled the third parchments, which was considerably longer than the other two put together. Draco was surprised to hear her laugh quietly while reading it. Curious, he squinted at the back of the letter, only to see a scrawled postscript. He tried to make out what it said, but to no avail. When Granger flipped the parchment over and saw the few untidy sentences there, her eyes flicked over to him nervously.

_Well, that doesn't bode well._

Before Draco could demand answers, a subdued She-Weasel sloped back into the room. Granger stuffed the parchment down the side of the seat cushion and got to her feet. "Are you okay, Ginny_?"_

In lieu of an actual answer, Granger was quickly enfolded in a tight hug that looked awfully damp from Draco's viewpoint. Tears streaming down her face, Weasley was muttering sadly, and Draco strained his ears to hear what she was saying.

"I miss them so much already."

Granger was rubbing her back in a soothing manner. "I know, me too. But it won't be for long."

The Weaselette nodded and released her. "You're right," she said, giving a watery sniff.

_Urgh. Is it too much to ask that she blows her bloody nose?_

Without missing a beat, Granger produced a small, floral-patterned handkerchief from Merlin-knows-where, and pressed it into her friend's hand with an understanding smile.

"_Good call. I don't much fancy drowning in a flood of Weasley mucus."_

"_Shut up, Malfoy. Stop being such an unfeeling git."_

"_I feel things. For example, at this very moment I am feeling thoroughly disgusted."_

Weasley blew her nose loudly, and Draco mentally congratulated her on resisting the urge to inspect the slimy contents of the handkerchief.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"I'll deliver those." The Weaselette gestured with a still-shaky hand towards the unopened correspondence stacked tidily on the table. "Mum has decreed that being busy will keep me out of trouble."

"_Not bloody likely."_

"_Didn't I tell you to shut up?"_

"It's worth a try," she said to her still-sniffing friend. "It's never worked for me, mind you."

Weasley chuckled half-heartedly. "No, we've never had much luck there, have we? I'll go now. Can I come back later on?"

"_Not a chance."_

"Of course. You don't need to ask."

After another hug – _Is it at all possible for these daft mares to experience an emotion without pressing themselves against another human being?_ \- the Girl Weasley gathered up the letters, swiping her eyes and squaring her shoulders before leaving. Granger watched her departure, absently patting the note in her shirt pocket.

"_Come on then, Granger. Spill."_

She whirled around to face him. "Spill?"

"_You couldn't be more transparent. Something in those letters has put the shits up you, and I want to know what it is."_

"Such a way with words." She sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. Draco narrowed his eyes. _I'll add 'lack of respect for personal space boundaries' to your list of sins, shall I?_

"I wrote to some people in the Order."

"_Yes, I know that. I'm not one of your stupid little monkeys."_

He was on the receiving end of a withering glare. "Do you want to know or not? I wondered whether there was a plan in place for you after next week."

_After next week? Shit._

"_The start of the summer holidays."_

"Exactly." Draco noted with interest that she was wringing a corner of the bedsheet in her hands. "I _was_ supposed to be spending the summer at Headquarters, helping out in any way I can. But I have been informed that I will be staying here to take care of you."

"_Staying here? Merlin, we can't stay in the fucking school all summer!"_

"It appears that we can. Professor Dumbledore will be calling in to give us more details in the next few days."

"_Preposterous. You, me and Filch cosying up on our own for six weeks? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"_

"I rather think that Filch won't be involved in any _cosying up_. From what I understand, most people will be under the impression that I have left as expected on the Hogwarts Express."

"_Then how-"_

"I don't know, Malfoy. We'll just have to wait for the Headmaster to come and explain."

She was clearly infuriated by not knowing the ins and outs of a situation which affected her so closely. Draco could certainly empathise with her there.

"_What else?"_

"I don't-"

"_You're not fooling anyone, Granger. What else?"_

"Well..." She took a deep breath and looked him directly in the eye. "One of the other letters I wrote was to a high-ranking Order person. A person who has studied the Dark Arts in detail. I was after some information on the Dark Mark – whether it's possible to block a summons or an attack that's coming through it, that sort of thing."

Draco felt his eyes widen of his their own accord.

"Don't worry," she added quickly. "I didn't mention any names. He might know of your being here, but if he doesn't, my questions were phrased hypothetically enough."

"_And?"_

"He wrote a small reply. Apparently, the only way for a Marked person to nullify its power is to remove the Mark altogether."

"_You're fucking loopy. The Dark Mark doesn't just come off when you scrub at it in the bath, you know."_

"No, Malfoy, that's not what I meant. There's a spell. Lu-..._my informant_ says that it recently came to light. Somebody used it during the last war, a Death Eater who wanted out. There's some papers at Headquarters relating to it. He says... he says he'll send me copies, if I want them." She cleared her throat. "That is, I'll ask him to send them if _you_ want them."

"_Remove the Mark?"_

She shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."

"_It's the symbol of everything my family has ever stood for, that Mark. Our natural superiority in everything. My father has had it for more than twenty years. I've never known him without it."_

"All right, fine! It was only a suggestion. I thought you might want to stop Voldemort tort-"

"_Tell him yes."_

Draco would have enjoyed the way Granger was compelled to babble to the end of her sentence, if his chest hadn't constricted painfully.

"-uring you at a whim. What?"

He rolled his eyes. _"Tell him to send you the fucking papers, this Order man. Lu...pin, I presume?"_

She chewed her lip. "If the spell goes right and it comes off, you won't be a Death Eater any more."

"_I can hardly call myself a Death Eater when I'm under the protection of Dumbledore's allies, can I? Just as long as you understand that I haven't miraculously changed all of my views."_

"Heaven forfend," she murmured.

"_Whatever. Get the bloody werewolf to send you the notes before the Dark Lord starts murdering me slowly for shits and giggles. Come on, Granger, get your arse in gear."_

She leapt up off the bed and bolted out of the room. Draco closed his eyes and wasn't surprised to find an unusual wetness behind his lids.

_Please don't let this be the second biggest mistake of my life._

* * *

**And if this were EastEnders, you'd be hearing the doof-doofs right about now.**

**What did you think? Please review, I love getting them!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello lovelies! **

**I dedicate this chapter to my bestie. It was her birthday a few days ago (a big one, too!) and we had a lovely time at her surprise party (I gave HP-themed gifts, because I'm that kind of friend). I am super jealous because she got whisked off to the Harry Potter Studio Tour as a gift! Some people have all the luck! **

**Anyway, onwards...**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Visit**

Summer had come to Hogwarts. A balmy breeze stirred the gently rippling waters of the Black Lake, disturbing the dazzling glare it had borrowed from an unrelenting mid-afternoon sun. Sleepy, lazy silence reigned over the school grounds, bare of its usual bustle owing to a Saturday trip to Hogsmeade and the uncomfortable heat. The air was still, heavy and warm, and Hermione sucked in a lungful of it as she reclined comfortably against the thick trunk of an ancient lakeside tree.

"Too hot," Neville complained as he threw himself to the floor beside her. "Can't stand it. Prefer rain."

Ginny reached languidly for a pre-prepared picnic basket and settled it on her crossed knees, unwrapping a pumpkin pasty. "I like it. I can't remember when I last felt so relaxed, can you?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No."

_Liar_.

She closed her eyes and recalled the exact occasion when she had been totally at ease. _The __Quidditch World Cup_, she mused. Those blissful few weeks with her parents over the summer, those golden days spent with the beloved Weasley clan before starting her fourth year – before all hell broke loose and her ordered world shattered into a million pieces in front of her very eyes.

The night of the Ireland vs Bulgaria final had changed her. Hermione knew that she had never been one of those blithe, happy-go-lucky children whose cheerful dispositions she's often secretly envied. She prized order, consistency, rationality and logic, but what she had seen that night had torn away the carefree innocence she had managed to retain. Watching Voldemort's minions torture those poor Muggles for sport had matured her in ways that thirteen-year-old girls should never be mature, exposing her fully for the first time to what such narrow-minded prejudice led to, to the depths of unashamed depravity some people could reach, to how burning hatred could twist a soul...

She shivered, despite the unforgiving warmth of the day.

_It feels like I've been living on my nerves ever since._

"I hope it's nice, wherever you are."

Hermione started and snapped her eyes open. "Pardon?"

Neville was grinning indulgently at her. "I said, I hope it's nice wherever you are. You looked like you were miles away."

"I was," she replied, forcing an answering smile. "It's much better here, though."

"So, how's Malfoy?"

_Bless you, Neville Longbottom, and your beautiful tactfulness._

"Charming as ever. I've left him with Madam Pomfrey."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

She snorted. "Nothing a few years with a good therapist wouldn't fix. No, he kept me up most of the night singing the school song, so I asked her to strip him off and give him a thorough bed bath."

Ginny choked on a bite of pumpkin pasty. Neville guffawed, then looked around nervously as if he expected Malfoy to come flying down from Gryffindor Tower in retribution. Hermione smiled wickedly at them, conjuring a goblet filled with ice-cold water and passing it to her spluttering friend.

"I've fought Death Eaters," Neville declared. "But you are still the scariest person I've ever met."

"_Granger."_

_Speak of the devil._

"_I regret to inform you that I am unavailable at present. Please try again later."_

"_Ooh, hilarious. You need to come upstairs. Now."_

She groaned. _"Malfoy, I have no desire to see you naked-"_

"_The feeling's mutual. Stop your whingeing and get up here. Seriously. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."_

"_You didn't ask, you commanded. Fine, I'll be up now. You, er... you promise you've got clothes on?"_

"_Yes, you uptight cow, I promise."_

* * *

Draco studied the two visitors at the foot of his bed with hard, suspicious eyes. Both were watching him silently in return. The older man wore an expression that spoke of nothing more than mild benevolence, and his younger companion – well, Draco was glad to see he still inspired that particular look of barely concealed hostility.

Neither had uttered a single word since their arrival a few minutes previously. Draco was normally a huge fan of awkward silences, especially when he was the cause of them, but being subjected to this wordless observation, this measuring scrutiny, made his skin crawl. His pride wouldn't allow him to do what he really wanted and look away, so he met their stares with a challenging one of his own, hoping that his inner insecurities wouldn't show through. The sudden feeling of overwhelming guilt, the lamentable sense of shame, the... _enormous bloody relief_ when he heard Granger's ungainly shoes clomping up to the bedroom door.

"Malfoy, I swear, if you've called me away from my friends just to be a- Professor Dumbledore! _Harry!"_

He watched disdainfully as Potter swung around with a stupid grin on his equally stupid face, his arms opening expectantly for the inevitable hug. Granger launched herself at him, gripping him so tightly that Potter's breath audibly whooshed out of him.

_She'll break someone's ribs doing that one day,_ he thought sourly, trying to ignore the tiny twinge of something detestably close to jealousy in his chest. _He'd_ never been missed so violently. _He'd_ never been embraced so enthusiastically as to be in danger of physical injury. In his world, these sorts of displays were vulgar, not to be encouraged. Draco felt a brief stab of loss, and turned his eyes away from the entangled Gryffindors. The Headmaster directed a small, knowing smile at him, and Draco quickly attempted to empty his mind.

_Merlin save me from these nosy Legilimens crackpots._

Granger wrenched herself away from her scrawny git of a best friend and punched him on the bicep. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Potter chuckled and rubbed his abused arm. "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to. We didn't get back from our mission until the early hours."

"What mission? Where? With who? Ron? Where is Ron, anyway? Have you brought him?"

"_Fucking hell, Granger, do you interrogate all of your friends like that?"_

He was amused by the dirty look she shot at him in reply, which was wiped from her face when Dumbledore began to speak.

"All excellent questions, Miss Granger, and no doubt Harry will be only too happy to answer them as soon as he can. For the moment, however, I have things I would like to say before old age strikes and compels me to forget them. Please sit."

Being an exceedingly well-trained pet, Potter shuffled over to an armchair and sat immediately, eyes shooting daggers at Draco. Granger noticed the caustic looks they were exchanging and sat on the edge of his bed in a gesture that seemed almost... protective.

The Headmaster took the seat beside Potter, nodding approvingly at her. "I will begin by commending you, Miss Granger, for your quick thinking during Mr Malfoy's recent crisis. Your actions spared him a great deal of suffering, possibly even saving his life."

Her cheeks reddened with the praise. "Thank you, sir, but it was nothing-"

"Nonsense. I'm sure Mr Malfoy is very grateful."

_Yes, yes, well done, Granger. Shall we move on?_

"When the message reached us of the new development in his condition, Professor Snape deemed it wise to abandon his fruitless search for a specific countercurse, and instead concentrate his research on the removal of spells that are similar in nature to _Dormite Vivere_. I believe he is focusing his efforts on a likely candidate, the _Proprius Imperium_ curse."

Draco racked his brains. _"I don't know what the fuck that is. Do you?"_

"It's a modified version of the Imperius Curse," she supplied instantly in that pompous know-it-all tone of hers. Potter jumped, startled. "It gives one full mental control over the person one has cast it on. It's worse than the Imperius, really, because the victim loses any kind of independence, their every action has to be directed by the witch or wizard they are bound to. And it's permanent, as long as they... wait a minute..."

"_What?"_

She didn't answer; instead she stared off into the distance, her mouth moving as if she was engaged in a debate with herself.

"The _Proprius Imperium_ is indeed permanent," said Dumbledore casually, "as long as the dominant witch or wizards remains in possession of their wand. An interesting prospect, is it not?"

"_Granger."_ She slowly turned her head to face him and he sought out her eyes. "_Do you think-?"_

"I don't know. I think so. Maybe."

Draco's head swam._ Maybe. _It was better than nothing.

The Headmaster cleared his throat gently. "Academic hypotheses are a dull subject to discuss when there are friends to talk with. Harry, it might be a good time for you and Miss Granger to have your catch up."

Potter got to his feet with a smile and held out his hand. "Hermione?"

"But I-"

"Not to worry, Miss Granger. I am sure Mr Malfoy won't mind keeping me company for a while. When you return, I can brief the two of you on your summer plans."

Dumbledore smiled genially at him and Draco felt acute self-loathing twist in his gut. He watched forlornly as the Gryffindors strolled out of the room, leaving him alone with the man he'd tried to kill not a week earlier.

_Damn._

* * *

Harry flopped onto the double bed in her new room and glanced around, impressed. "Big, isn't it? Me and Ron have been shunted up to the attic in Headquarters, it's so full. Can't complain, mind. I'm so used to Ron snoring on the other side of the room, I doubt I'd sleep without it."

Hermione sank down beside him. "It's amazing what you can get used to. Saying that, it's been six years and I still wake up every time Lavender decides to have a conversation in her sleep."

"Did she ever say anything incriminating?"

"Sadly not." She kicked off her shoes and smiled. "Just as dull asleep as she is awake. So, what is it that you don't want Malfoy to hear?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me."

He sighed playfully. "I really must work on being more mysterious."

"You're mysterious enough, O Great Chosen One," she laughed. "Come on, tell me. Where's Ron?"

"Ron's at Headquarters. I know he would've loved to have come with me, but, er... well, he was hit by a Confundus Charm last night and is currently convinced that he is..."

"He is...?"

He bit the inside of his cheek. "That he is a small village in Lincolnshire."

Hermione tried, and ultimately failed, to fight off the urge to cackle. "Oh my god! Is he all right?"

"Oh yeah, he's fine," he grinned. "Not as fine as his views over the Nene Valley, though, according to him."

_Priceless. Absolutely priceless._ "How did it happen?"

"I can't go into too much detail, not here. We were after a _you-know-what_, in Gringotts. On the way out, we ran into a bit of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"A small group of Death Eaters. I think they were new recruits, taken out on a little field trip to intimidate the locals. Crabbe and Goyle were in charge, which was both hilarious and troubling."

"Not really known for their leadership skills, are they?"

"Exactly. Most of them couldn't tell one end of a wand from the other. They threw a couple of curses around, but we got off pretty easily."

"And the you-know-what is destroyed?"

"And the you-know-what is destroyed."

"Good."

"There's something else." Harry slid his glasses further up his nose, a nervous gesture that made Hermione anxious. "It's about Malfoy."

"Oh?" She frowned. "What about him?"

"Dumbledore thinks I should go after Bellatrix's wand."

"Ah."

"Yeah. God knows why. I mean, after everything Malfoy's done, I'd be perfectly happy to let him rot."

"Harry, you don't mean that."

"I do. He let those scumbags into the school, and they would have killed everyone I have ever cared about."

"I know. But for what it's worth, I don't think his heart was really in it."

He looked sceptical. "No?"

"No. Besides, we have to give him a second chance. If we don't, we're no better than the _scumbags_ who are after us."

"That's true. Where would I be without you, eh?" He smiled and wrapped a brotherly arm around her shoulder.

"I dread to think." She leaned her head against him and sighed gustily. "You want me to come with you, don't you?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Got a plan?"

"Sort of."

The corner of her mouth lifted. _Typical._ "We'll think of something."

"You're the best. You know that, don't you?"

"I know." She stood and stretched. "Are you staying here tonight?"

"If that's okay with you?"

"Of course. You can have the bed, and I'll sleep in the common room. Hang on. Dobby?"

The house elf appeared with a crack. "Yes, miss? What can Dobby do- _Harry Potter!"_

Harry beamed. "Hello, Dobby! How are you?"

"Dobby is well, oh, yes, and better for seeing you! What is you wanting? Dobby will get it straight away!"

Hermione knelt in front of the elf. "You know I don't like asking, Dobby, but we need a couple of favours."

"Yes, miss, anything!"

"Harry's staying the night, and I was wondering if you could find him some clean clothes, and have what he's got on washed? It looks like he's been sleeping in them." She lowered her voice. "And could you find Ginny Weasley and bring here here? Don't tell her about Harry, though, it'll be a surprise."

The elf's huge eyes shone. "A surprise?" he whispered. "Dobby loves surprises. I will go right away, miss!"

"Thank you, it's very kind."

He disappeared with another loud crack, and Hermione straightened. "I'm going to speak to Professor Dumbledore. Why don't you have a quick shower? It's just through there. Dobby's gone to get you some clean things."

"Good idea." Harry plucked the sleeve of his threadbare Weasley jumper ruefully. "I reckon I could do with them. Won't be long."

* * *

"Then the centaur said to the goblin, 'I wouldn't use that fork if I were you!'"

Draco was uneasy. When Potter and Granger had departed hand-in-hand, he had fully expected the Headmaster to launch into some form of interrogation on the movements of the Dark Lord, give him a lecture on how flawed his ideology was, or perhaps a reprimand over the events leading up to that fateful night on the Astronomy Tower.

None of that had happened.

No, the old man had simply conjured himself a comfy footstool, dug a handful of sweets from a pocket in his robe and settled down to tell Draco some of the most painfully unfunny jokes he had ever heard.

"Are you familiar with the one about the French wizard and the talking toad? There was a wizard collecting potion ingredients in a field just outside of Marseilles, when..."

_Oh, Merlin, please make it stop._

"Ah, Miss Granger, you have returned. I was just telling Mr Malfoy about the French wizard and the marvellous talking toad. Have you heard that one?"

Granger looked perplexed. He didn't blame her. "Er, yes, sir. The toad turns the Frenchman into a chessboard."

"That's right! A wonderful joke, although it does contravene several of Gamp's laws of transfiguration. Do come in, my dear, and sit down."

She took the other armchair and raised a puzzled eyebrow at Draco. He rolled his eyes.

"_Don't look at me, I haven't got a fucking clue. He's been like that since you left."_

With a small shrug, she turned to the Headmaster. "You wanted to discuss the plans for Malfoy's care over the summer, sir?"

"Indeed. I understand that you are aware of my wishes for the pair of you to stay on at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. I don't doubt that both of you have reservations, but I can assure you that the school will be the safest place for you."

_Surely not. I mean..._

"But couldn't we-"

"I apologise for interrupting you, Miss Granger, but every objection that has occurred to you has already occurred to me. You must know that Mr Malfoy could not be successfully cared for and concealed in any Order safe house. We do not have sufficient manpower to ensure his protection in the event of an attack from Voldemort's forces. There is also the fact, sad though it may be, that his presence would be unwelcome and cause a large amount of consternation amongst the Order. The situation would be extremely unpleasant for all concerned. I am convinced that it would be far better for the two of you to remain here, securely, until further notice."

The look on Granger's face could have curdled milk. "I want to help the Order, sir!"

"Your passion does you credit," he replied evenly. "Truly. And who's to say that you won't be helping? We are always in need of research and ideas, and you will have unfettered access to both the school's library and my own personal store of books. Your knowledge and skills have always played a pivotal role in Harry's successes, I understand, and I would hate to see them go to waste."

"_Are you salivating over the thought of Dumbledore's books?"_

"_Of course I'm not, you prat." _Draco saw her discreetly wipe a hand over her chin, just in case.

"It goes without saying that your true location will be of the utmost secrecy. The only people who will know are as follows: myself and Harry, Professors Snape and McGonagall, and ex-Professors Lupin and Moody. It is imperative that nobody else is told. Miss Granger, your friends and family will be informed that you have gone to Ireland for the time being."

"_They can't just fucking abandon us like that."_

He received a dark look and a _shush_ in return.

"What about Mr Filch? He stays in the school over the holidays, doesn't he?"

"Argus has a small property in Hogsmeade, which he retires to during the summer. Naturally, he makes several visits a week to the school to ensure that all is as it should be. You will need to exercise some caution, but you should be able to evade him. I have persuaded Harry to leave you his ingenious little map to that end. I have also spoken with the House Elves, and they are more than willing to assist you during your stay."

"And if we need to contact the Order?"

"You may send any messages through Dobby. I would ask that you keep any correspondence to a minimum to avoid rousing suspicion. The Floo in my office will be connected to a safe Order location, should you need to evacuate. I must stress how unlikely that eventuality is. Do either of you have any further questions?"

"No. Malfoy?"

"_Yes, actually. What ingenious little map does Potter have?"_

"_I'll explain later. Any proper questions?"_

"_Ask him why he's leaving a teenage girl and a paralysed teenage boy to fend for themselves in a deserted castle for six weeks."_

"_Don't start. What else would you have him do? Take you to Headquarters for the Aurors to use as target practice?"_

Draco narrowed his eyes. _"Didn't have your lot down as the torturing prisoners types."_

"_I'm sure they wouldn't hurt you too badly. And you're not a prisoner, you're a refugee."_

"_Keep telling yourself that."_

"_I will, thank you."_

"Well, if there's nothing else, I will leave you to it." Dumbledore got to his feet and their mental bickering ended abruptly. "I'm very glad to see you so well cared for, Mr Malfoy. No, Miss Granger, don't get up. I remember the way out." He smiled at them as he reached the door, eyes glinting mischievously. "Do enjoy your summer together. I'm certain you will both find it enlightening."

Draco blinked, and he was gone.

* * *

**I know, this wasn't a terribly exciting chapter, but the ground needed to be laid for Chapter Seven – which I have decided to post straight after this one, to make up for lazily disregarding my own schedule. Things will be happening sooooon... please review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING: Things get a little dark in this chapter. If you're sensitive to such material, please take caution.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Going**

"Malfoy. Malfoy, wake up."

"_Piss off, Granger. Sleeping."_

Draco heard her scoff nearby. "Not nice, is it, having someone rudely disturb your rest?"

"_I said sorry."_

"You have never said sorry. For anything. In your life. Ever."

"_I submitted to that excruciating scrub-down from Pomfrey, didn't I?"_

"What were your other choices, besides submitting? I'm curious."

He opened his eyes groggily, then slammed them shut again. _"Shit!"_

"What?"

"_My eyes. I've got sleep in my eyes and it fucking hurts."_

"Oh? Oh. Do you want help?"

"_No, I don't want any help from- Oi! Stop poking me in the bastard eye!"_

The mattress shifted as she rested a knee on it, and Draco felt the hair on his temples lift from her even breaths. _So close._ Something cold and wet slid softly along the length of his lashline, smoothly wiping away the sharp little remnants of his slumber.

"There," she said. "Better?"

He cracked a lid experimentally. She was still hovering above him, lips curved upwards with faint amusement.

"_That was your spit, wasn't it?"_

Granger laughed, an actual, honest-to-Salazar belly laugh that he'd never heard from her before. Out of habit, she raised a hand to cover her mouth, a trait he guessed probably traced back to years of disparaging commentary on the size of her teeth. _They're not so bad now_, he thought dazedly, half wondering just how many of her insecurities he'd effectively exploited over their time at school. Of course, he knew enough about her by now to be certain that she would rather die than reveal if any of his jibes had ever hit home.

His gaze travelled over her, noticing that she wasn't dressed in her usual school robes or weekend Muggle gear. Instead, she was clad head-to-toe in the protective black gear favoured by Aurors, right down to the heavy-duty, standard issue Ministry boots. Belatedly, he realised that her hair wasn't wildly loose or scraped into a serviceable plait, but pulled into a neat and severe bun at the nape of her neck.

With growing disquiet, he sought out her eyes. _"Granger, are you going somewhere?"_

The laughter died on her lips and she watched him warily. "Yes."

"_Where?"_

"I can't tell you."

Draco tamped down his rising temper._"You've got to be fucking kidding. Where are you going dressed like that?"_

"I can't tell you," she repeated.

"_Why the fuck not?"_

"Classified," she said simply, as if that was the end of the matter. She moved to stand at the foot of the bed. "I woke you up to tell you that I'm leaving, I don't know when I'll be back, and Ginny will be in charge of your care while I'm gone."

He stared. _"No."_

Granger crossed her arms defensively. "I wasn't asking your permission, Malfoy."

"_This is Potter's doing, isn't it? He's off on another one of his suicidal little adventures, and he's taking you along for the ride."_

"You know nothing," she spat angrily, eyes sparking. "I don't know who the hell you think you are-"

"_I'm your fucking patient, Granger! As appalling as the idea is to both of us, you're supposed to be looking after me-"_

"Ginny has promised not to leave your side-"

"_But you're swanning off with The Boy Who Lived To Have A Death Wish, doing Merlin-knows-what with Merlin-knows-whom. If you end up captured, or worse, then who the fuck will be left to give a shit whether I live or die-"_

"You selfish, melodramatic tosser-"

"_You're all I've fucking got, you pig-headed harpy! Happy now? You are the only person in this whole damned world that I can place an ounce of trust in. I don't want you fucking dead!"_

His admission stopped her argument in its tracks. She blinked, opening and closing her mouth several times, releasing a strangled sort of noise. Draco looked away, furious at himself for revealing, _to her of all people_, how much he relied on her.

"Malfoy," she began, stuttering to a halt. He heard her exhale loudly before she tried again. "Malfoy, everything will be fine. Ginny will sit with you until I come back. She'll keep an eye on your Mark. She knows what to do if it starts burning. You'll be safe with her, I swear."

He chose not to respond, determinedly focusing his attention on a crack winding across the white ceiling. _Pathetic. This is absolutely pathetic. I am fucking pathetic._

"I need to go now," she said at length. The soft thuds of her boots against the floor told him that she was nearing the door. She paused. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw her unclasping the blood-smeared locket from around her neck and stuffing it into her trouser pocket. "I can't afford any distractions."

_Fuck you._

He was so angry that he barely registered the words she spoke as she backed out of the room.

"I will come back to you. I promise."

* * *

The walk from the statue of the One-Eyed Witch to Honeydukes' cellar took almost an hour, and Hermione made the journey in contemplative silence. Her mind felt full, crowded – on top of her worries over this mission, Malfoy's begrudging, almost belligerent declaration earlier had thrown her for six.

He'd already intimated that he didn't consider himself a Death Eater any longer. His taunts about her blood status had been few and far between over the past few days, but Hermione didn't fool herself for one second that he had undergone some profound shift in his beliefs. No, Malfoy was merely pragmatic enough to overlook the fact that her ancestry offended him in some ridiculous manner because she'd shown him some basic humanity.

_That's quite sad, really,_ she thought, feeling her way along the damp, earth wall of the passage. _How awful it must be to live so alienated from common decency._

And he trusted her. He _trusted_ her. These Slytherins didn't take that sort of thing lightly, she knew – they trusted each other, their families, their allies... _not_ Muggleborn Gryffindors actively working to bring down the organisation they had grown up revering.

Hermione was gratified, and slightly puzzled, by the faith he had unexpectedly placed in her, also slightly unnerved. _Daunted_.

_What on earth am I meant to do with it?_

Her foot scuffed against something hard. She lit her wand with a whispered _Lumos_ and began to ascend a steep, stone staircase.

If she could perhaps turn him, persuade him to work for the Order...? _Definitely not_. She shook her head. _Rational, but unrealistic_. Malfoy would never be prevailed upon to commit himself to a cause he had no loyalty towards. From what she understood, it had taken weeks of torture and various death threats to get him on top of the Astronomy Tower that night, indicating a dedication to self-preservation that outweighed all other instincts.

He couldn't spy, he probably wouldn't inform, and every single member of the Order despised him. _With good reason_, she reminded herself. What Draco Malfoy needed, quite desperately she thought, was a friend. He was a loathsome excuse of a human being, a calculating, cold-hearted wreck with a terrible personality and no apparent redeeming features, but there, on that draughty, seemingly endless staircase, Hermione Granger decided that _she_ would be his friend. _Whether he bloody well likes it or not._

Engrossed in debating the pros and cons of this new plan, she missed the swinging of the trap door above her head and let out a small scream when a disembodied hand tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh my Christ!"

Harry flipped the hood of his invisibility cloak and shushed her amusedly. "It's only me," he said, sniggering. He reached his arms down to lift her up into the cellar. "No need to scream blue murder. C'mon, let's get going. The sooner this is over, the better."

* * *

A few miles away, Draco was still awarding the ceiling a special kind of scrutiny as he agitatedly castigated himself for his supreme stupidity.

_Of all the arse-faced, dickheaded things to say. You colossal wanker, Draco Malfoy. You raging twatbag, you clusterfuck bell-end-_

"You rotten, useless little scrotum!"

_Yeah, that too._

His gaze shifted to the doorway, where a red-faced, puffy-eyed Ginny Weasley was in the process of storming into the room. She kicked the door violently and stamped her foot on the creaking floorboards.

_And there was me thinking that bad-tempered gingers were just a stereotype._

"Good-for-nothing son of a bitch," she fumed, throwing him an accusing glare as she marched over to the chair. "If they die because of you, I will end you in such a grisly way that you'll be calling out to Voldemort for help."

_Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine this morning?_

_Hang on._

_If they die because of you,_ she'd said. What the fuck did that mean?

Draco caught her eye and blinked rapidly in an attempt to convey his confusion.

She scowled. "Like you don't know."

He blinked twice, stung that the Weaselette knew more about Granger's whereabouts than him.

"They're on their way to Malfoy Manor," she explained sullenly. "On some mad bloody mission to get Bellatrix Lestrange's wand so they can lift your curse."

He could feel the blood draining from his face. Weaselette eyed him speculatively.

"You really didn't know?"

Two blinks.

_Granger, you fucking idiot._

The scowl ebbed from her face. "You didn't ask them to go?"

Two more blinks.

_Why the fuck would I ask them to go _there? _Nobody in their right mind would ask _anyone_ to go _there.

"Oh. I thought... I thought you'd asked them."

_I wouldn't wish that place on my worst enemy. Not even Potter. And as for Granger... I'd have thought she'd have more sense than to wander straight into a fucking abattoir for her kind. _

_Holy fucking Merlin._

* * *

They hit a cold, tiled floor with a dull _thunk_, landing in an inelegant sprawl of twisted arms and legs. Hermione scrambled to get to her feet, pulled down again when Harry attempted to do the same.

"Your foot's on my ankle."

"Your elbow's on my neck!"

"Wait, don't move, my arm's at an awkward angle..."

"I've got to move, your knee's crushing my crotch."

Disentangling herself slowly, Hermione crawled to a nearby sink and used it to lever herself up. Harry struggled to his knees, wincing.

"Blimey, Hermione," he said, stretching carefully. "I thought you passed your Apparition test."

"I did, you cheeky git." She held out an arm for him to grab onto. "I've never used Side-Along before, that's all."

He accepted her help and dusted himself off. "Where are we?"

"The ladies toilets of the Red Lion in Devizes. We stopped off here on our way home from a trip to Cornwall once, my parents and I."

She closed her eyes to force away memories of a happier time. Harry patted her shoulder comfortingly, wisely making no comment. In control once more, she flashed a brittle smile at him. "Let's prepare for our outing, shall we?"

They cast Silencing Spells on their booted feet and draped themselves with the invisibility cloak. The pub was still locked up at this time of morning, luckily, and a quick _Alohomora_ opened the heavy security doors onto an eerily quiet main street.

"Odd," Hermione murmured as they exited the pub and made their way down the thoroughfare. "This is a market town. There should be people everywhere by now."

"Something's wrong here," Harry muttered at her side. "Very wrong."

The atmosphere was thick with Dark Magic. Even through the barrier of the cloak, Hermione could feel the malignant ooze of it against her skin. She took in a gulp of stale, humid air and pressed onwards.

"We'll cut across those fields." She pointed at a hint of greenery barely discernable in the low-lying fog. "The Manor is about a mile and a half south-east."

Climbing over a stile proved no easy feat for two people wrapped in yards of cumbersome shimmering material. After several goes, they navigated it successfully and dropped down onto a patch of dry, well-worn mud.

"Right, that's south, so we need to head..._ Oh my God_."

She knew from Harry's sharp intake of breath that he'd seen it too. Fifty feet in front of them was a pyre, easily six feet high and entirely composed of smouldering human remains. Hermione fell to her knees and retched.

_Muggles._

Even without the Dark Mark glinting ominously overhead, partially obscured by the unseasonable mists, it was obvious what had happened here.

A round-up.

A massacre.

_The start of a fucking Holocaust._

Harry garbled unintelligibly and yanked her to her feet. "Come on, come on, we've got to see if we can help. Come _on_, Hermione!" He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her, stumbling, towards the scene of abject devastation.

The closer they got, the more obvious it became that these poor souls were beyond help. A mass of charred, blackened corpses was all that was left of the peaceful non-magical populace of Devizes. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight of two bodies, burned beyond all recognition, with what remained of their hands still tenderly entwined. A couple perhaps, maybe friends or family members, that had gone to their deaths clutching onto each other.

_Such love, such devotion, even in the face of such unimaginable horror._

"We can't do anything." She spoke unsteadily through numb lips, her gaze still fixed on the joined hands. "Oh, God, we can't do anything."

Harry was shaking; with emotion or fury, she couldn't tell.

"Yes, we can," he said fiercely. "Yes, we can do something. We can have these people buried properly, with _decency_, and then we can get to work on finishing off the bastards that did this to them."

She nodded jerkily. Harry's mention of decency reminded her of her promise to offer friendship to Malfoy when she returned. _Malfoy._ If he'd still been with the Death Eaters, would he have participated in this? Would he have taken part willingly in this abomination, this sickening brutality, this... extermination?

Harry was muttering quietly at her side. She wondered remotely if he was saying a prayer. _Pointless_, she thought detachedly. _Before our very eyes is the evidence that no God exists_. When he was done, he took one last, long, look at the barbaric display, as if he was memorising it. Storing it as a visual depiction of everything they were fighting against.

"Harry..."

He swiped his eyes with the heel of his palm and turned to her. "Let's go," he said, making a valiant attempt to sound like his normal self. "We'll get the Aurors down here after we've been to Malfoy Manor."

"Okay," she whispered. Her own eyes were so dry that they were stinging. "After we've been to Malfoy Manor."

* * *

Weasley was using her wand to shoot showers of harmless, multicoloured sparks around the room. Draco watched the bursts of brightness halfheartedly, more occupied with an increasingly uncomfortable concern for Granger's well-being. _She'd better not die. What the fuck will I do if she dies?_

The ginger girl sighed, dragging him away from his mawkish thoughts. "How long d'you reckon it'll take them?"

_It'll take as long as it bloody takes._ He blinked repeatedly in reply; he and Weasley seemed to have designated this as his _I don't know_ response.

"Harry was very vague about it. Did Hermione say anything?"

_No, Granger said next-to-bloody-nothing about it before flouncing off and abandoning me to my fate._

Two blinks.

"Thought not. Those two... they're scarily sneaky and devious when it suits them. Sometimes I think they'd have been better off in Slytherin."

Draco rolled his eyes. He tried to imagine them in his House Common Room. _Potter would be exiled immediately_, he thought with great amusement and satisfaction. _Too much of a bloody Messiah complex. _He contemplated a Slytherin Granger thoughtfully. _Strip away that ludicrous surfeit of nobility she suffers, and give her a proper pedigree, and she'd fit right in. _He was somewhat surprised by his conclusion. _No, she wouldn't just fit in. She'd completely take over. The entire poxy school would be dancing to her tune._

Weasley sighed again and swung her feet up onto the edge of the bed. "Let's play Twenty Questions. You think of a person and I'll ask. Go."

* * *

As they approached the site of Malfoy Manor, the crackle of Dark Magic in the air became ever more pronounced. Hermione was stifled by it, drained, both her heart and her feet weighed down. The clumsiness of Harry's gait made it clear that she wasn't the only one feeling the ill-effects of an area saturated with evil sorcery.

All of her research suggested that the actual house was Unplottable, hiding behind layer upon layer of protective enchantments, shielded from the view of the casual Magical and Muggle passer-by. Her heart stuttered when the word _Muggle_ brought images of the atrocity laying just over a mile behind them. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Harry looped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer and propelling her forwards at the same time. Hermione returned the gesture gratefully.

Then she heard it. It was a low, pulsating hum, assaulting her ears in regular waves, accompanied by a faint white noise vaguely reminiscent of an untuned television. The sounds rattled around her skull, setting her teeth on edge.

Harry ground to a halt. "Can you hear that?"

"Yes. We're getting close." She clenched her hands into tight fists, frantically resisting the overwhelming urge to cover her ears and run screaming in the opposite direction. _Keep it together,_ she chided herself. _Be rational. Don't let it defeat you._

"It's coming from over there." Harry directed them to the right, into a forest so dense that only the merest slivers of sunlight permeated the gloom. Low-hanging branches skimmed the tops of their heads, snagging on the cloak, slowing their progress as they squelched along the wet, fern-carpeted floor.

Hermione caught Harry's wrist as he aimed his wand to clear them a path. "Don't," she hissed urgently. "We're too close, they'll be alerted to the use of magic. We'll lose the element of surprise."

"Good thinking," he mumbled, kicking his foot free of a particularly stubborn tangle of brambles.

The droning vibrations of the noise were almost palpable to the touch, the cloak trembling finely under the onslaught. Twenty minutes of struggling through intrusive trees and treacherous undergrowth brought them to a small clearing, a patch of bare, packed earth illuminated by a large, perfectly circular hole in the thick leafy arch above it. In the centre stood a well, built with ancient, mismatched stones and covered by a small, green wooden canopy, its peeling paint testifying to a great age.

Hermione thought it looked like something out of a childhood fairy tale, half expecting a storybook princess to materialise from the sinister leaning trees to pick the wild black flowers that curled along the cracks in the stone. The pervasive sound it emitted, at its strongest here, reminded her that there was no glittering castle tucked away within – only the lair of the Wicked Witch.

"This is it," she said softly, hardly daring to breathe.

"This is it." Harry looked around, backing them a few feet away from the clearing, selecting a tree with a wide, gnarled trunk for them to use as cover. When they were in position, he took a moment to study her face intently.

"I know we're doing this as a personal favour to Dumbledore, but if you don't want to go through with it, we'll leave right now."

She surprised herself by offering him a small smile. "Harry James Potter, when have you ever known me to back down from a fight?"

He gave a quiet, hollow laugh. "Fair enough. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Right. _Morsmordre!"_

Hermione shivered at the malicious grinning skull that appeared directly above the well, its sneering mouth opening to release a hideous fanged snake into the air. She chanced a glance at Harry, whose complexion had taken on a greyish tinge. She scooped his free hand into hers for a quick, supportive squeeze.

The pulsating hum cut off abruptly, replaced with the sound of rumbling below the well. The stonework melted away to reveal the top few steps of a gleaming marble staircase. Hurried footsteps echoed from underneath, muffled shouts growing louder by the second.

"Who goes there?" called a deep, familiar voice.

"State your purpose!" shouted another.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a brief, disbelieving look. _Could they seriously think of no one better to put on guard duty__?_

Crabbe and Goyle emerged from the hole in the ground, chins wobbling from the exertion, wands raised and doing their best to look intimidating.

"Oi," yelled Goyle. "Reveal yourselves, trespassers!"

"What's that spell?" Crabbe scratched his nose with his wand. "The spell that Madam Lestrange told us to use?"

_Homenum Revelio_, Hermione's mind supplied idly._ You should have cast it before you even poked your ugly heads aboveground._

"Hominy," Goyle said slowly, lowering his wand as he screwed up his face in concentration. "Hominidium? Hominimium. Yeah. Revelio? That's right, isn't it?"

"Dunno. Try it."

"Hominimium Revelio!"

"Nothing. You've either got it wrong or there's nobody there."

_Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the effects of sustained inbreeding._

"There's got to be someone there. The Mark didn't just cast itself, did it?"

"Ten points to Slytherin," Harry murmured in her ear.

"What was that?" Crabbe scoured the trees with his piggy little eyes. "Could've sworn I heard something."

The bungling duo clambered up the last few stairs and took a handful of steps into the undergrowth. "We'll have a little shufti around, then we'll go back in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Harry nudged her. "Now! _Stupefy!"_

"_Stupefy!" _

Harry got Goyle in the forehead, and Hermione caught Crabbe square between the eyes. She whispered an _Incarcerous_, leaving Harry to levitate their prone bodies out of sight.

"How long until someone comes to investigate?"

"Not sure." He rubbed his face pensively. "We can't go charging in, the wards would never let us through. We need to draw them out. Can you think of anything?"

She chuckled weakly. "Yes, I can think of something. _Avis._" She conjured a flock of twittering canaries, directing them down the marble staircase with a swish of her wand. _"Oppugno."_

A shrill scream drifted up from the hole in the ground. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and Harry stiffened beside her. Both of them had heard a scream like that before. Both of them knew exactly who was coming up the staircase next.

_Bellatrix Lestrange._

* * *

**Oooh. Oooooooh.**

**This chapter was, strangely enough, one of the easiest and most enjoyable to write.**

**Please let me know what you think. Really – I've never written any scenes like this before, I have no idea how it comes across. Reviews are lovely, they make my day and help me with the writing.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I've been keeping an eye on the stats for this story, and they are incredible! I can't believe how many people are reading this. I'm truly humbled by the numbers and the **_**totally awesome**_** response, genuinely. Gahhh, you are all so amazing!**

**On we go. I want to put a warning here for the violence in this chapter, in case any readers are distressed by that sort of thing.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Wands**

"Get into position."

Harry ducked out from beneath the Invisibility Cloak and assumed a duelling stance, and Hermione willed herself to obey his whispered command. The approaching clack of heels against marble was tolling like a death knell in the oppressive hush of the clearing.

"_Homenum Revelio!"_

Swallowing down a whimper, she pressed herself against Harry's back, moulding her arms and legs to his just as Bellatrix's pre-emptive spell highlighted their location with a small, fiery circle. The nightmarish echo of advancing footsteps ground to a halt nearby as she rested her forehead between Harry's strained shoulder blades.

"What have we here?" The infantile coo rang out, discordant, through the glade. The trees seemed to creak with apprehension. "Ah, hello, ickle Potter. Have you come a-calling to avenge sweet Sirius?"

Tension was rolling off Harry in waves. She closed her eyes in silent supplication. _Don't rise to it, she's baiting you, don't give her the satisfaction, please don't..._

"Nothing to say, dearest? There was I, thinking you cared for that mangy dog. You certainly bawled enough when I killed him. Remember?"

"You detestable bitch." Harry's voice was harsh, uneven, a hoarse croak that Hermione barely recognised. Bellatrix laughed with all the humour of a cracked whip.

"There, see, you _do_ remember. Do you think about that night a lot? I do. Yes, I just love recalling the way the light died from that filthy Blood Traitor's eyes-"

The witch was cut off by Harry's rash _Everte Statum. _Hermione cast a non-verbal _Protego Maxima, _narrowly shielding them from the _Crucio_ hurled at them half a second later.

"It's time," he said in an undertone, simultaneously firing a _Stupefy_ that only missed by a few inches. "Do it!"

Slowly stepping away from her best friend, Hermione took a fortifying breath and exhaled as quietly as she could.

_Focus. You know what to do_, she instructed herself firmly. _You came up with this plan. It's the only way to save Malfoy; it's the only way to get out of here alive. Just focus!_

Glancing around, she saw that Bellatrix was being kept busy by Harry's constant bombardment of offensive spells and judged it safe to crouch down and scoop up a handful of the overgrown ferns that made up the forest floor, wordlessly transfiguring them into rocks. Lifting one, she weighed it in her hands before selecting another. _Ready_. She was preparing to launch it when she heard a noise that raised every hair on the back of her neck. There was somebody else climbing the marble stair, the squeak of expensive shoes accompanied by the rhythmic click of varnished wood on a polished surface. There could be no mistaking the owner of those footsteps. Hermione went cold with dread. Cool, clipped tones rose above the racket of Bellatrix's laugh-punctuated Unforgivables.

"My, my, Bella. You didn't tell me that we were entertaining a guest."

* * *

"Are you... Dolores Umbridge?"

Draco admitted defeat with a single blink. Weasley grinned triumphantly at him, waving her arms around in a gesture he had come to recognise as her victory dance.

"That's seventeen-nil to me. You're rubbish at this game, Malfoy. Anybody would think that you _love_ losing."

He narrowed his eyes. _Vile little swine._

"Another go?"

_Fine. I'll show you who loves losing._

Draco racked his brain for an obscure candidate, grinning internally when he recalled the subject of his fourth-year History of Magic exam. _Hmm. Leaders of the Goblin Rebellions. _

_If she gets Urg the Unclean in under twenty guesses, I will eat the Sorting Hat._

* * *

"Lucius! Who let you out of your cage?"

Hermione suppressed a gasp. The Lucius Malfoy that was standing three feet away from her was haggard, dishevelled and leaning heavily for support on his cane. That famous mane of pale hair was tangled and greasy, large chunks of it hanging loosely from the haphazard ponytail it had been shoved into. Closer inspection showed her that his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, glassy with drink and puckered with exhaustion. This wasn't the haughty aristocrat she was used to, this was a broken man. She felt an unwelcome stab of pity for him...

...until he smiled. His teeth were bared in a sneering parody of amusement, and Hermione was hit by a wave of revulsion so acute that her own lip subconsciously curled in a mirroring grimace. He was radiating a sense of such dangerous intensity that both Harry and Bellatrix instinctively stilled and turned to watch him.

"Very droll, madam," he said calmly, that serpentine smirk still stretching across his face. "My cage, indeed. I simply came down from my study when I perceived a disturbance in my wards."

Bellatrix glowered at him. "A disturbance that I have under control, as you can see."

"Quite. Good morning, Potter, excessively kind of you to drop by. Tell me, who is your friend with the stone?"

This time, Hermione _did _gasp. Lucius's politely questioning gaze was fixed on the rock, for all intents and purposes floating mid-air. She let it drop hastily. _"Expelliarmus!"_

He deflected the spell with a lazy swish of his cane. "Miss Granger, I presume? How fortuitous. It was only the other day that I was thinking it has been too long since we served a mudblood to the House Elves."

"You bastard." Blazing anger coursed through her veins. _"Stupefy!"_

"Tut, tut. The language on you is appalling. _Expelliarmus!"_

"It's no more appalling than your son's," she spat, jumping frantically in a vain attempt to catch the wand that wrenched free from her grip, gliding through the air and into Lucius's waiting palm.

The superior smirk fell from his face. "_You_ have Draco?"

Hermione took advantage of his distraction to fall to her knees and lift her rock, surreptitiously concealing it in a fold of the cloak. "I do."

"_Crucio!"_

The baleful red light sailed two feet above her head. She cast a non-verbal Silencing Spell on her knees and crept closer. Lucius was swinging his cane wildly, his curses streaming uselessly into the trees. "Impossible! Draco would rather die than live amongst mudbloods and Blood Traitors."

"It would appear not." She was so close now that she could smell the fumes of stale Firewhiskey clinging to his robes. He looked down. _Too late_. With every ounce of strength she possessed, Hermione brought up the rock and smashed it solidly between his legs. He roared with pain and outrage, collapsing to the floor. She scrambled to loosen her wand from his fist but he held firm.

"Fucking vermin," he wheezed. "Give me my son or I'll fucking kill you!"

She slapped at his hands hysterically. "Let it go!"

"I'll... fucking... kill... you..."

Hefting the rock once more, she dashed it against his temple. He fell unconscious, blood trickling down from the wound towards his ear. Whipping off the cloak and stuffing it under her shirt, she shivered. _Oh my God, what have I done?_ She forced down the bile that had risen in her throat and plucked the wand and cane from his loosened grasp as an unearthly shriek rent the foetid forest air. She spun on her heel, alarmed. Harry was backed up against a nearby tree trunk, his face ashen and his body convulsing under the onslaught of Bellatrix's _Crucio._ A primal rage flooded through her at the sight. Unthinkingly, Hermione charged forward, tackling the witch with a guttural cry.

"Get your filthy fucking paws off me," Bellatrix growled, her face twisting with fury and disgust. "How dare you defile me with your touch, you-"

"Dirty mudblood?" Hermione sneered and pinned the witch's arms above her head. "I must say, I'm not impressed with the breadth of your vocabulary, _madam_."

Bellatrix spat in her face. "Impressing you isn't a consideration, you pestilential wretch."

"Well, that's lucky." From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry standing slowly, steadying himself against the tree. "As enjoyable as this visit has been, I'm afraid I have to go. You know how it is. People to see, things to do... wands to snap."

If she had been a lesser person, she might have enjoyed the flicker of fear that passed through Bellatrix's eyes, before the Death Eater started muttering under her breath. Tendrils of menacing purple light began to swirl from her restrained hands. Hermione was frozen in place by the power of the enchantment, powerless to do anything besides stare, aghast. _This is it, then_, she thought detachedly. _Oh, God, I don't want to die..._

"_Stupefy!"_

Bellatrix's hands dropped with a thud and the curls of malignant light faded into nothingness. Hermione looked up to see a shaken Harry standing over them, his mouth set in a grim, tremulous line.

"That nutcase took my godfather, I'll be damned if she takes the closest thing I've got to a sister."

She clambered to her feet and folded him in a hug, mindful of his injuries. "Thank you. You okay?"

"I'll live." He attempted a smile. "How far do we have to go to Apparate?"

"A mile." She ran a nervous eye over him. "Will you be able to-"

"Of course I will," he declared unconvincingly. "Don't forget her wand."

Hermione knelt to gather it alongside Lucius's. She snapped them both in half and tucked the splintered pieces into her trouser pocket – the one that wasn't carrrying her locket. The thought of it being anywhere near the wood that was used to inflict so much misery turned her stomach.

"Come on, Hermione, let's go. I want to be as far away from here as possible."

* * *

"All right, I swear this is my last guess. Are you... a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"

_I don't even know what that is._ Draco blinked twice.

"Argh, fine. You win, I lose." Weasley huffed petulantly. "And now I will never know what the answer is."

He rolled his eyes._ Gryffindors are such sore losers. _

His triumph was short-lived. A sudden warmth was tingling in his extremities. _Fuck, not again. Please, not again._ He blinked furiously to attract Weasley's attention.

"What is it, Malfoy? Is it- Holy Merlin!"

_This is different._

Wisps of benign pale blue magic followed the progress of the rush of feeling across his body. The serenity of the glow calmed Draco's racing heart, assuaging his fears and infusing him with a languid tranquillity. His mind comprehended dimly that the sensation was building in intensity, the gentle illumination reaching an almost blinding peak before bursting without warning, jolting him so powerfully that he was thrown across the room, landing in a heap at the door.

"Malfoy!" Weasley yelled and barrelled over to him. "Malfoy, what the hell was that? Oh, Godric..."

Draco sucked in a shuddering breath. "She did it," he croaked, his voice rough with lack of use. "She did it. She lifted the fucking curse."

He smiled widely as his eyes glazed over, drifting peacefully into a gentle, healing sleep.

* * *

Hermione was on the verge of a full-scale panic.

Harry needed potions, _fast_. The prolonged Cruciatus he'd taken had left him unsteady on his legs, causing him to lurch aimlessly through the dense undergrowth as they tried to make their escape from the legion of Death Eaters emerging from the hole in the ground. The dank forest was lighting up like a fireworks display with the red and green streaks of Unforgivables flying through the air, its eerie silence shattered by bellowed incantations and promises of violent retribution.

She knocked Harry out of the path of an _Avada Kedavra_ and shot an _Expluso_ in the direction of its source. Harry's grip on the hand she held out to help him up was weak.

"It's no good," he groaned, staggering to his feet. "There's too many of them. You'll have to Apparate us out of here."

"I can't," she said, anxiety making her shrill. "The wards... they'll be able to follow us!"

"Doesn't matter-"

"You're not strong enough!"

"Just bloody do it, Hermione! We won't last another five minutes if you don't."

She took in the look on Harry's bloodless face, his eyes misty and cold sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. The only thing keeping him conscious was sheer willpower. He was right, she knew; they'd be dead long before they could ever reach the comparative safety of the forest boundary. A klaxon was blaring in the distance – a call to arms for every Voldemort supporter in the area. She bit her lip. _We're sitting ducks. _Without further comment, she linked her arm through his and concentrated on a destination.

It was only as they were being sucked into the Apparition void that she registered the ice-cold fingers that had clamped around her ankle.

* * *

They slammed onto solid concrete. Hermione, winded by the force of the impact, squinted dazedly at the 300-ft brick towers looming over her. _Oh, Battersea Power Station. I know this place__._ Her mum and dad had managed a dental practice nearby when she was a small child, before they'd moved to a larger premises in North London. _We used to drive past here every day. I always wanted to go inside._

A pained groan emanating from somewhere around her feet ripped her unwillingly into the present. Someone was crawling along her prone, aching body, their sharp elbows and knees digging spitefully into her weary, protesting muscles. She struggled to free herself, a futile action given the superior strength and size of her subduer.

"Harry, help me!"

The body atop hers vibrated with the rumble of a dark chuckle. "Potter won't be helping _anybody_ any time soon."

Hermione turned her head. Harry lay beside her, out cold, his skin deathly pale and his breathing shallow. Her eyes prickled with tears.

"Look at me." A cruel hand took hold of her chin, yanking it viciously until she was staring up into the crazed, leering face of Lucius Malfoy. "I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born." He drew back a fist and punched her with all his might, the blow knocking her head sideways and splitting her lip.

_No, no, no._ She bucked and twisted fruitlessly, which appeared to serve to amuse him. He chuckled again and another punch landed on her cheekbone.

"Give me my wand, mudblood, and I might consider making your death painless."

"I don't have it," she lied, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

Large hands wrapped around her throat. "Don't... lie... to... me. Where is it?"

"I don't know!"

He pressed his thumbs down savagely. Hermione managed a gasp before her air supply was cut off, icy panic hitting her like a tsunami. Her fingers scrabbled uselessly, nails breaking on the unyielding surface. She kicked her legs furiously until he eased the pressure on her windpipe, allowing her to suck in a breath of air that felt like broken glass.

"Since the truth is not forthcoming, perhaps it would be a better idea for me to search you? After all, there are many places you could have concealed my property... _on your person_."

_No. No. Oh, God, no._ She emitted a hysterical shriek as one of his hands released her throat to wander suggestively down her chest.

"Shall I start here?"

"Get off me!"

"Oh, I will. Just as soon as I am satisfied that you aren't in possession of my wand."

_Wand._

The word reverberated around her panic-fogged brain.

_Wand._

_Are you a witch or not?_

"It's in the waistband of my trousers!"

Lucius raised a smug eyebrow at her. "Good girl. Although, owning up to it won't save you. You still need to be punished for your earlier misdeeds."

He pulled back slightly to rest on his heels, relieving some of the weight imprisoning Hermione's left arm. Lifting the bottom of her shirt to expose her midriff, he frowned.

"That's not my..."

She seized the opportunity to wrench her arm loose, grabbing the end of her wand with numb fingers and yelling out an _Expluso_. He shot into the air and crumpled against a metal barrier twenty feet away.

"_Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Incarcerous!"_

The power station had been decommissioned not long after her parents had set up their new practice. She levitated Lucius into one of the less-dilapidated outhouses and cast over it the strongest locking charm she could muster.

_He won't be getting out of there in a hurry_, she thought with a grim satisfaction. _I'll tell the Aurors where he is. Eventually._

Running quaking fingers through her hair, she wondered woodenly if she was in shock. _Speaking of shock..._

"Harry!"

His purpling eyelids were scrunched together, his battered limbs spasming randomly. Hermione gathered him up in her arms just as several loud cracks echoed around the deserted power station forecourt.

"There they are!"

"Get them!"

Harry was in no fit state to be Apparating. Neither was she, truth be told. Hermione took one look at the handful of Death Eaters sprinting towards them and pictured her aunt's old holiday home. _Sorry, Harry. We have to go_. Their departure was met with a chorus of rage-filled howls.

* * *

Draco lounged on a low riverbank, enjoying the blissful warmth of the summer sun on his face. With one hand curled into the dew-dampened grass on one side of him, and the other dangling aimlessly into the gentle rush of water on the other, he sighed contentedly. There was a kingfisher somewhere in the vicinity; he recognised its sudden distinctive call above the bubbling sound of a cascade further downriver. This was a favourite spot of his and his mother's – she had always enjoyed watching the wildlife. Kingfishers were lucky, she'd say. They're symbols of peace and prosperity.

_Peace and prosperity._ His lips quirked. _I could do with some of that._

He'd made up his mind to rise and follow the vibrantly-coloured bird along the winding path of the river when he was stilled by a disembodied whisper from the trees on the opposite side of the river.

"He keeps moving."

"Yes. The last of the Dark Magic is leaving him."

_Dark Magic? Who's got Dark Magic?_

"He smiles, too. Even though he's asleep."

"He isn't truly asleep, Miss Weasley. The ancient healing magic you described has placed him in some form of coma. It will be creating a relaxing simulation of reality for him while his body recovers from the effects of the curse."

_What in Salazar's name are Dumbledore and Ginny bloody Weasley doing here?_

"How long do you think it'll last, sir?"

"I'm afraid that one cannot be certain. Anything from a few hours to... Well, there have been cases where a full recovery has never been made. A great deal will rest upon the strength with which his body fights."

Draco speculated idly on the identity of the subject of their conversation. _Probably one of the Gryffindors. They do have something of a talent for pissing off dangerous people._

"What about Harry and Hermione, Professor? Shouldn't they be back by now?"

"I understand your apprehension, Miss Weasley. However, let us not forget that they are two extremely capable young people. If they require any assistance, they will let us know. I am sure that they have merely been delayed for some reason or other, and will return very soon."

The voices trailed off into the distance, and Draco stretched lazily. Now that Dumbledore and Weasley were gone, he could get up and seek out the kingfisher – _if they haven't bloody scared it away._ He glanced up at the sky and crinkled his nose happily. _What a lovely day._

* * *

The two extremely capable young people were not having such an enjoyable time as Draco Malfoy was. Hermione levitated Harry face-down onto a dusty, lumpy sofa in the uninhabited stone-built farmhouse, high up on a craggy moor. She tore his shirt in half with her wand, choking down a despairing cry. His back was a mass of blood and thick, ridged grooves where his skin had been splinched away. It looked as if he had been the victim of some frenzied knife attack, and Hermione struggled against the dizzying urge to faint at the sight of so much mangled flesh.

"Oh, God, Harry, I'm so sorry," she babbled, frantically _Scourgifying_ him and casting a stuttered _Vulnera Sanentur_ in the hope of stemming the bloodflow. The wounds began to stitch themselves together untidily, but Hermione knew that he would need proper wizarding medical attention as soon as possible. She transfigured an embroidered cushion into bandages and began to bind him with hands that had taken on a definite tremor.

Harry let out a sharp hiss of pain when the gauze made contact with his lacerations. "Ah! Her-Hermione..."

"I know, I know it hurts." She dashed a bloody palm over her tear-tracked cheeks, wincing as she accidentally swiped across the graze on her cheekbone. She wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I am, truly. There was no other way, there were Death Eaters-"

"S'okay." Even half-dead and in agony, he was trying to soothe her. Hermione's lip wobbled anew. "Where are we?"

"Derbyshire. Aunt Jean used to rent this place every summer. It was the only place I could think of... I didn't want to risk Apparating as far as Scotland in one go..."

"Good plan." He grunted with the effort of trying to move. "How far to... Hogwarts?"

"Nearly 400 miles. Harry, we can't possibly-"

"We can. We have to."

Hermione wiped her nose again. "I'll send Professor Dumbledore a Patronus. Ask him to meet us at the school gates."

"Clever."

She summoned her silvery otter on the third attempt, too distraught to be able to focus on a good memory at that moment. After recording her message, she watched dumbly as it floated away, jumping when she felt Harry's hand wrap around her wrist.

"Come on, 'Mione," he mumbled drowsily. "Be brave."

_Be brave._ She nodded and slid her hand into his. The last thing Hermione remembered was arriving at the gates of Hogwarts holding onto an unconscious Harry, passing out with relief when she saw Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall running towards them.

* * *

**Whoosh. This chapter took a long time and went through several drafts before I finally settled on this one. I'm not sure about the action – it's something I've never really done before and I don't know how to feel about it :/**

**A review would be great, if you have the time/inclination. I find it so helpful, knowing what readers are enjoying (...or otherwise!)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Sound**

It was slightly chilly in the Hospital Wing. The starchy sheets and pillows surrounding her carried the faint scent of recent disinfection, a smell that triggered a powerful wave of nostalgia and homesickness in her. She closed her newly-opened eyes to concentrate on memories of her parents; how the sterile smell of the office would always accompany them home from work, the hugs that would transfer it onto her, the smile that lit her father's eyes when he teased her blushing mother for never being happier than when she was bleaching something. Hermione gathered the sheets closer and inhaled deeply before turning tentatively on her side to face Harry in the neighbouring bay.

He was still unconscious, but she rather suspected that was something to do with the half-empty bottle of Sleeping Draught left on the table at the foot of his bed. His breathing was calm and regular_, _she noted with relief, and there was a delicate hint of colour returning to his gaunt cheeks. For long moments, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, thanking every Muggle and Wizarding deity she could think of for preserving her best friend.

The curtain screening them from view shook, the shriek of its hooks against the metal rail deafening in the stillness of the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey emerged through a parting, casting non-verbal diagnostic spells over Harry and giving a firm nod at the results. The nurse smiled slightly when she noticed Hermione's silent vigil.

"I wasn't expecting you to be awake so soon, Miss Granger."

"How is he?" Hermione winced. Her voice sounded strange, harsh, every word scraped from a throat that already felt raw and bloody.

Pomfrey bustled over, casting more diagnostics. "Weak, as you can imagine, but he'll live. Mr Potter doesn't seem to have sustained any lasting damage, although he'll need several days of total rest before I even begin to consider releasing him."

Hermione submitted to her bruises being prodded and a lit wand-tip being waved in front of her eyes. "Am I ready to go?"

"Go?" Madam Pomfrey pulled back, aghast. "Miss Granger, you have some rather serious injuries; broken ribs, severe concussion, blood loss from splinching, not to mention the myriad of bruises and cuts you are covered in. No, my dear, you cannot _go_ until you have recovered your strength."

"But Malfoy-"

"No buts. Here." The nurse placed two small phials in her hand. "Strengthening Solution and Sleeping Draught. I will be back in an hour, by which time you will have taken these and be sound asleep, yes?"

"Yes," she mumbled miserably.

"Good girl."

It took ten minutes for the door to Madam Pomfrey's office to click shut, signalling the nurse's retreat. Hermione popped the cap off the bottle of Strengthening Solution and gulped its sugary contents, gagging as the liquid slid down her abused throat. The Sleeping Draught was hidden under her pillow as she lifted the sheets from her reluctant body and set unsteady feet onto the cold flagstone floor.

"Dobby?"

* * *

"Any news?"

Draco grimaced at the sound of Neville Longbottom's worried whisper. He shifted his legs impatiently, disturbing the cloud of small, silvery fish that had gathered around his bare feet after he'd sunk them onto the river bed. As it had been doing throughout most of the day, Ginny Weasley's voice permeated the serene stillness of his surroundings.

"Alive but very ill, so McGonagall says. She wouldn't tell me anything else. I've tried sneaking into the Hospital Wing, of course, but Kingsley Shacklebolt is standing guard on top of the stairs and he's caught me every time."

_Well, well. The Order is at Hogwarts. _Draco's natural curiosity compelled him to wade as silently as he could to the other side of the river, closer to the source of the voices, where he heard Longbottom let loose a heavy sigh.

"I can't stop thinking about when McGonagall brought them in. I really thought... I really thought we'd lost them."

Weasley sniffled. "Me too. I don't think I've ever been so frightened in my life."

A thoughtful silence followed. Draco scrambled up onto the bank, taking care not to alert the Gryffindors to his presence. He was assailed by a sharp pang of fear and unease, overwhelming anxiety twisting in his gut. _Something terrible has happened. I knew it would. How did I know?_ He racked his brain for answers, only to come up against an ominous purple mist where his memories should have been.

Longbottom cleared his throat. "They'll pull through," he said, the firmness of his tone betrayed by his uncertain waver on the last syllable. "They're survivors."

"I suppose you're right." Draco was momentarily irritated by the braveness of Weasley's tone. "It's just... Well, you saw them, Neville. Harry looked like a... like a _corpse_, and Hermione was so battered I almost didn't recognise her."

Draco paused, stricken. His head throbbed and the mist dispersed, half-forgotten memories that had been lurking in some dark corner of his mind rushed to the fore. At first it was nothing more than a series of jumbled images – hard, weather-worn wood vibrating beneath his cheek as thick-soled boots thundered past, a gaudy room with scratchy sheets, particles of dust falling from a faded scarlet bed canopy.

Then there she was. _Granger._

Glaring at him. Pushing potions down his throat. Arguing with him. Soothing him when he thought he was about to die in agony. Staring down Potter when the speccy git dared to shoot evil looks at him. Laughing uncontrollably as she leaned far too close to him.

_Granger._

She had walked out of the door, straight-backed and square-shouldered, unmoved by his certainty that she was going to her death.

_Oh, Merlin, Granger, what have you done?_

Draco straightened, all thoughts of stealth fled, and called out to Weasley and Longbottom. "Is she all right?"

Their quiet conversation died mid-sentence, but there was no response.

He growled impatiently and began to run towards the end of the meadow beyond the riverbank."Are you fucking deaf or something? I want to know what happened to Granger! Is she all right?"

Longbottom squeaked. "Ginny, what's he doing?"

"I'm not sure." Weasley sounded perplexed. "He's been twitching all day, but not this badly. Do you think he can hear us?"

"Of course I can bloody hear you!" Draco bellowed. He glanced around, searching for the ignorant pair, his attention finally caught by the changing sky. It had been lit by glorious sunshine only minutes previously, but was now filling with the same purple light that had swirled in his mind's eye as he'd tried to access his memories earlier. "What the _hell_?"

"Should we... should we get somebody?" Longbottom's words were distorted, the sounds coming at Draco like a recording played on a hundred wireless sets as different speeds. He raised his hands to cover his ears and pressed on, dizzied by the auditory assault and slowed down by feet that felt as heavy as lead.

"You stay with him, Neville. I'm going to run up to the Headmaster's office. Something's not right here."

Draco whimpered. Weasley's voice had been raised until it had the same pitch as a banshee's shriek.

"What's happening? Where's Granger? Will somebody just tell me _what the fuck_ is going on?"

* * *

"Oh, Miss! What _has_ you been doing?"

Hermione squinted in the darkness until the little elf came into focus. Dobby's large, tennis ball eyes were brimming with tears, his work-roughened hands wringing the edge of his spotless tea towel uniform.

"Don't worry, Dobby, I'm fine. Honestly. Harry's fine, too. I just need-"

"Harry? HARRY POTTER!"

The elf bounded across to where Harry lay, unresponsive, under the protective magical bubble that had formed around him after Madam Pomfrey had left. He clutched the iron bars at the foot of the bed and howled with despair.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter is gravely injured! Why didn't he call Dobby, oh, why?"

"Ssh, Dobby!" Hermione tried to keep her voice to a whisper, certain that the noise the elf was making would bring the nurse charging over. "He's going to be all right! Please, Dobby, please stop shouting. Harry will be all right!"

Dobby turned a distraught face towards her. "Harry Potter is being all right?"

"He'll be all right soon, yes. He just needs to rest. Now-"

"You is promising?"

Hermione twisted her cut, thickened lips into what she hoped would be a reassuring smile. "I promise. Madam Pomfrey said so."

"If you is promising, miss, then I is believing you." The elf wiped his bulbous nose on his tea towel. "And you? Is Madam Pomfrey saying you will be all right?"

"Yes." Dobby's face relaxed with relief, and she instantly hated herself for the lie. "In fact, she says I can go back to my dorm right now. I wanted to ask if you'd help me get there."

"But, miss, if the nurse is saying you can go, why is she not helping you?"

"Oh, I didn't want to disturb her." She lied again as breezily as her raw throat would allow. "She's busy looking after Harry. You can Apparate around Hogwarts, can't you? Would you be able to take me with you?"

The elf shuffled his feet. "Of course, miss, but I is thinking you should stay here until you is-"

"Please, Dobby?" Her husky voice cracked at last. "Please help me. I need to check on Malfoy."

"The nasty boy from my old master's house? He is your friend?"

Hermione regretted the shrug of her painful shoulders. "Yes, he is my friend."

"Friends is important." Dobby rubbed his eyes and drew himself up to his full height. "Come, take my hand, miss. I is taking you to your friend."

* * *

The benign flowers of the meadow were darkening, flailing and withering into blackened ropes that tried to tie themselves around his legs as he ran. Panicking, Draco searched his pockets for his wand and came up empty.

"Weasley! Longbottom! Are you still there?"

The sky was lowering now, a threatening violet fog collecting at the very edge of his vision. He was thrown to the ground as a spine-chilling laugh echoed around his skull.

"_You'll never get out of here alive, Draco Malfoy. You're ours now."_

Draco clutched at his ears and squirmed. The cruel laugh and jeer, unmistakably those of his Aunt Bellatrix, set off another barrage of memories – the Astronomy Tower, the curse she'd placed on him, the weeks of torture that had led to the Dark Lord handing him his suicidal assignment – accompanied by another headache so intense it felt as if his eyes were only seconds away from exploding.

"It appears that the residue of the Dark Magic is much stronger than I'd thought."

The suffocating sensation receded slightly. Draco clambered to his knees and moved his hands an inch from his ears. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh yes, he is most definitely aware of us now. Mr Malfoy, whatever you are experiencing is an illusion."

_Doesn't feel like a poxy illusion. It feels like the end of the fucking world, you mad old bastard!_

"It started about ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Neville and I were talking about Harry and Hermione when..."

The darkness around him redoubled without warning. _Hermione._ "Granger! Granger, help me!"Draco's chest heaved, constricted by the ropes that had slithered around him, binding him so tightly that every breath was a struggle.

_Help me. Oh, fuck, somebody help me, please._

"What's that?!"

* * *

The thickly-woven rug of the Heads common room was by far the softest landing spot Hermione had encountered recently, yet the judder of Side-Along still sent shockwaves of pain throughout her entire body. She knew from her first, faltering step that the barely healed lacerations criss-crossing her arms and legs had re-opened, as had the cuts Lucius Malfoy had inflicted on her lips and face, and she felt hot blood streaming from her with a vengeance. Dobby squeaked with dismay.

"Miss, you isn't well, you should-"

"I know, Dobby. But we're here now. Might as well... go and see..."

"_Hermione?!"_

The door to Malfoy's room swung open, and there stood Neville, several shades whiter than usual, eyes bulging.

Ginny pushed past him. "Can't be, she's- bloody hell, Hermione! _What are you doing here?_"

"Malfoy. How is he?" She walked towards the door with small, measured steps designed to disguise the dizzying effect of her sudden blood loss.

"Not wonderful, but never mind about him! You need to get back to the Hospital Wing! Old Pomfrey's losing her marbles if she thinks you're anywhere _near_ ready to be up and about..."

"I rather think that Madam Pomfrey had little to do with Miss Granger's unexpected discharge from the infirmary."

Hermione reached the doorway and leaned against the frame for support. "Headmaster! I'm sorry, I- God, what happened?"

Malfoy was thrashing around, half on the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat. He was hissing and whimpering, arms flailing as if he were fighting off an invisible assailant. She stared, horrified. "Is it his Mark?"

"No, but it is something similar. Since Madam Lestrange's wand was broken, Mr Malfoy has been incapacitated by after-effects of the curse placed upon him. The Dark Magic is strong, and most reluctant to release him from its grasp."

"What can I do?"

Ginny placed a gentle hand on her arm. "You can go to bed and get those cuts healed, for a start. Don't worry about Malfoy-"

"I have to worry about him, don't you understand?" Hermione turned to her friend and looked at her beseechingly. "I am the only person who _will. _Please, I can... I think I can help..." She reached a stiff, blood-soaked hand into her stiff, blood-soaked trouser pocket and pulled out the locket she had hidden there that morning. Clutching it in weakened fingers, she closed her eyes and concentrated.

"_Malfoy?"_

"_Granger? Is that you? Oh, thank Merlin..."_

"_What's happening? Why can't you wake up?"_

"_I asked for you... I knew you'd come... Shit, Granger, I think I'm dying..."_

She opened her eyes and sought out the Headmaster. "He's there. What does he need to do?"

* * *

His entire world was purple pain. The bonds subduing him had grown thorns, spiteful prickles digging into protesting flesh. His every move tightened them, and Draco had finally decided to lay still and wait for death when he heard her.

"_You're not dying,"_ she was saying, short, staccato bursts of words penetrating the fog around him. _"Whatever you can see, it's not real. It's just an illusion."_

An illusion. Dumbledore had said as much earlier. It was pretty fucking hard to believe it when he could feel the life being squeezed from him.

"_Malfoy? Can you still hear me?"_

"_I can hear you. How can this be an illusion, Granger? It's killing me!"_

"_Because you're letting it! Fight it. Just... fight it, Malfoy."_

Draco's sigh was trapped in his throat. _"And how am I supposed to do that?"_

There was a pause. He couldn't tell if she was thinking, conferring or just lost for words.

"_This is all in your mind."_

Thinking, then. _"So you keep saying."_

"_Can you feel this?"_

An unexpected warmth enveloped his right hand. Draco started, causing the binds to tighten. _"What the hell is that?"_

"_It's a sword," _came the answer. _"Can't you see it? It's silver. Very ornate, the detail is superb. I think it's probably Goblin-made."_

He slanted a look at his hand. Forming between his fingers was the beautifully carved hilt of a superior weapon, the kind which adorned the walls of his father's study. _"How are you doing this?"_

"_Muggles call it subliminal suggestion. It's like magic without a wand."_

Draco flexed the sword in his grasp, testing its weight. _"Magic without a wand," _he repeated slowly.

"_You can use it to fight off whatever's attacking you, can't you?"_

The ropes around his upper thigh screeched as he wiggled the blade to slit through them. _"Yes!"_

"_Do it, then. Come on, I haven't got all day."_

"_Bossy cow." _He slid the sword further up his arm, using the tip to free his hand from the constricting ties. His arm unrestricted, he made quick work of the rest, ignoring their spasms and wails. _"Done."_

"_Good. Are you standing?"_

"_Give me a bloody minute, woman." _Draco struggled to his feet. _"Now what?"_

"_Let my... let the sword go."_

He scoffed. _"No chance. Merlin knows what's coming at me next."_

"_Fine. What can you see?"_

"_Nothing." _Draco swung around, irritated. _"There's nothing. Just the damned fog."_

"_Okay, concentrate. I've made a gap in the fog. It's somewhere to your left."_

Squinting, he was amazed to see a small parting forming in the purplish swirl. _"Fucking hell. I can see it."_

"_Go into it."_

"_What's in there?"_

"_Nothing bad, I swear. Trust me."_

Draco watched the parting twist and turn until it became big enough for him to squeeze through. He walked to it slowly, hesitating in front of it. _"I do. Trust you, that is."_

"_I know. Go through. You'll see a bed."_

He dropped to his knees and crawled through the gap, sword-first. The scene changed immediately, the carpet of blackened ropes and cloud cover transforming into a bedroom he recognised from a memory. A bed lay at the end of the room, dressed with coarse, red blankets, and flanked by red and gold armchairs he knew he'd found disgusting before. The progress of his bare feet across the room was chorused by an accompaniment of creaks and groans.

"_Floorboards are bloody loud, aren't they?"_

He heard a weak laugh. _"They are. Don't you have them down in the Slytherin dorms?"_

Sitting down on the bed, he smoothed a hand over the well-worn sheets. _"No, we have flagstones. And smart bedcovers."_

"_Then we Gryffindors are missing out. Lay down on the bed. Don't mind the sub-standard covers."_

"_Easy for you to say." _Draco reclined on the bed and glanced up at an all-too-familiar canopy. _"And now?"_

"_And now you will fall into a really deep sleep. You won't have dreams, you won't have nightmares, you'll just have a relaxing rest. When you wake up, all of this will be over. Let go of the sword, and sleep."_

He felt overcome with an unexpected weariness. _"I want to keep the sword while I sleep."_

"_No, I-"_

"_Please. Let me keep the sword until I wake up."_

There was a pause. _"Okay, I'll sort something out. You're asleep now."_

And he was.

* * *

**This chapter was the hardest to write so far. I'm not entirely certain that it panned out the way I wanted it to, but there's only so many rewrites a girl can bear! The next chapter will hopefully be a bit easier to get done. Please let me know what you think – I love reading your reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello, readers! Follows, favourites and reviews keep lighting up my inbox – and I am thrilled beyond belief. Keep them coming... *remembers manners* ... please. So, onwards to the update!**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Hands**

A long time afterwards, Draco would remember that morning as the first time in years that he'd woken up to a feeling of rested peace. He came around in a soft, old bed, blessed with a lingering sense of safety and protection, the sun streaming through an uncovered window to create patterns of dancing light behind his eyelids... and a hand he instinctively recognised as Granger's still firmly in his grasp.

Yes, from the moment his mind threw off the muddled warmth of sleep, Draco had realised that the weapon he'd used to slay his curse-induced demons was nothing more than the hand of the girl who, by the teachings of his childhood, should be regarded as of no more evolutionary importance than the dirt on his shoes.

He didn't believe that was quite true any more, of course. His knowledge of other muggleborns wasn't exactly extensive, naturally, but his experiences over the past week had proved to him that at least _one_ of them was important. So important, in fact, that he had felt no need to immediately remove himself from the close contact in which he found himself with her.

This little moment of peace couldn't last forever, though. The door to the room was opening, and footsteps were approaching. Draco kept his eyes closed. There was a pause, a sigh, then a small shifting of the mattress as Ginny Weasley perched beside Granger's still-sleeping form.

It took two gentle whispers of her name before Granger stirred, her hand momentarily tightening on his. "S'matter? Harry?"

"Don't panic, he's doing well. Listen, I'm sorry to wake you, but Pomfrey's waiting outside to check you over. I've kept her out as long as I can..."

"It's all right." Draco felt her stretch, then gently pry her fingers free from his. "I'll see her in my room. You'll stay with Malfoy, won't you?"

Weasley sighed again. "Of course I will. I won't be holding his hand, though."

He couldn't tell whether the small answering gasp was born of amusement or pain. Granger left the bed with an awkward shuffle and, opening his eyes at last, Draco watched her limp out of the room on her friend's arm. She was still dressed in the black stealth gear she'd been wearing the previous morning. Her hair had finally given up all semblance of being under control, and was now curling freely from its ineffectual bun. None of this mattered in the great scheme of things, however, compared to the absolute carnage that had been wrought on her face.

Granger's right eye was swollen and bruised, her eyelid only fractionally open. Gouges and scrapes littered her cheekbones and lips, her skin and hair liberally coated with dirt, dust and dried blood. Her hands, including the one he had been clutching for the past few hours, were filthy with grime and more blood, her fingertips scratched and several of her nails broken. Most horrifying of all was the series of violent purple smudges along her collarbone and neck.

_What the hell has been going on?_

He slid out of bed the second he was left alone and tested his weight on legs that felt decidedly unsteady, no doubt weakened by the curse his bitch of an aunt had seen fit to place him upon him. Despite everything, he found a moment to spend marvelling at the wonderful feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, flexing his toes against the slight roughness in the grain of the floorboards with a little smile. Remembering his mission, to find out _just what exactly had fucking happened _while he'd been out of it, Draco moved carefully towards the door. He reached for the handle, stumbling backwards when it was thrown open, narrowly avoiding a collision with his face. It was his rear end's turn to make the acquaintance of the floorboards, and he scowled furiously at the sniggering girl in the doorway.

"Merlin's ballbag, Weasley! Are you that ill-bred that you can't knock?"

"Yes, yes I am." The shameless bint stepped forward casually. "Need any help?"

"No, thank you," he replied curtly, batting away her proffered arm. "Where's Granger?"

"Next door in her room, receiving some much-needed healing and a thundering lecture from Madam Pomfrey. Are you sure you don't need help?"

"Positive." Determined not to reveal his wobbly gait, Draco pushed himself to his feet and manfully made his way to one of the armchairs he so despised. Weasley nodded and dropped into the other.

"Hermione wanted to know if you're experiencing any after-effects. Dizziness, hallucinations, that sort of thing-"

"To hell with that. Tell me what happened to her."

To her credit, she didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "I don't think that's appropriate."

He raised an incredulous eyebrow, briefly enjoying the sensation of possessing fully mobile features once more. "I think it's entirely appropriate."

"If Hermione wants you to know, she'll tell you. Until then, it's none of your business."

Draco felt his temper beginning to fray. "None of my business? She goes to _my_ home, to disarm _my_ aunt, so she can lift _my_ curse, and comes back looking like she's had seven shades of shit kicked out of her – and you're telling me that it's _none of my business_?"

"Yes, but it wasn't just your aunt that she had to contend with, was it? Just let it go, Malfoy. It's not as if you care."

"Fuck you. You don't know the first fucking thing about me." Draco stood, weakness be damned, and gestured at a door half-hidden behind a moth-eaten tapestry. "The shower's in there, I take it?"

"Yes, it's in there." She watched him speculatively as he passed her, eyes shining with curiosity. "You _do_ care, then?"

He sneered at her before pushing the tapestry aside. "None of your business."

* * *

Hermione would be eternally thankful to Madam Pomfrey for delaying her thorough scolding until the Pain Potion began to take effect. Cuts successfully re-sewn, sore ribs _Episkey_'d and bruises smothered in healing paste, the nurse's glowers and dramatic refusals treatment to any more injuries "caused by your own foolhardiness" weren't quite as threatening as perhaps they should have been. Lulled by the magical warmth spreading through her extremites, she was on the verge of sleep when the tirade came to an abrupt stop, and a low, indulgent chuckle sounded in its place.

"I wouldn't take Poppy too seriously, Miss Granger. She was extremely anxious for you once she'd realised you were no longer in the Hospital Wing."

Wrenching open heavy eyes, she was watched the Headmaster enter the room, levitating a large pile of books behind him.

"For you, during your convalescence."

"Thank you, sir." Hermione sat upright. "Have you had a chance to-"

"I spoke with Kingsley as soon as I left you last night. A small team of Order members has been dispatched to Devizes to bury the dead with dignity and conduct a search for any survivors."

_Devizes. _The very name of the place conjured up a fast-paced montage of sickening images in her mind, each memory more distressing than the last. Hermione swallowed the lump forming in her throat and focused her misting eyes on the stack of books now placed in the middle of her neat desk.

"Am I researching anything in particular?"

Dumbledore made a soft sound of amusement. "Ever perceptive, Miss Granger. These volumes are from my own collection. I thought you might enjoy them, but they do have the added bonus of potentially providing clues as to the locations of Tom Riddle's horcruxes."

She nodded quickly, glad of the diversion. "I'll start right away."

"I don't think that's quite necessary, my dear. I would have you take some time to rest first. After all, your stay at Hogwarts is likely to be of some duration, and you will have the assistance of Mr Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" _Jesus, you can't be serious!_ "Would it be wise, sir, giving him access to such... sensitive information?"

"To whom would he pass it? No, Miss Granger, I feel that this is the best course of action. I understand, of course, that your relationship has been strained in the past, but I have reason to believe that Mr Malfoy has been experiencing something of an epiphany of late."

"An epiphany," she repeated flatly.

"Exactly. Now, I must..."

The Headmaster ground to a halt with a frown. Brow furrowed, Hermione followed his line of vision in time to see a wispy, silvery lynx bounding through the closed lattice window. Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming tones were unusually unclear and garbled.

"_Attack... Diagon Alley. Many dead... casualties... flames. Come as soon... Albus. Seventh protocol."_

The patronus dissipated. Hermione dragged a stuttering breath into emptied lungs.

"Seventh protocol, sir?"

Dumbledore looked up. His face was devoid of its habitual serenity, every line and crease etched across his features in greater detail than ever before. She'd always known he was getting on in years, but this was the first time he'd ever looked quite so... _old_.

"The seventh protocol is an evacuation order, Miss Granger. The summer holidays are beginning early."

* * *

His shower had been a cold one. Draco couldn't fathom how to heat up the water without magic, and he was damned if he'd ask Weasley for help. Resolving to speak to Granger at the earliest opportunity about the return of his wand, he towelled himself dry – _like a fucking caveman_ – and redressed in the spare uniform he'd found hanging on a peg, ignoring the frayed Gryffindor tie that had accompanied it. He was running a comb through his still-damp hair when he heard it.

The whole castle seemed to be shaking under the assault of hundreds of feet pounding up and down the corridors. Panicked shouts and shrill screams echoed from all around the Tower. Draco chanced a glance out of the window and saw groups of students in the courtyards below wailing, hugging and frantically pushing down on the lids of hastily packed trunks. The Heads of Houses were in the middle of it all, gesturing wildly and issuing instructions to prefects, that oaf Hagrid hustling first-years towards the school gates. Draco watched the manic scene unfold uneasily until he was distracted by a banshee-like screech from the doorway.

"What are you doing? _Get away from that window_!"

He'd barely had time to react before she'd flicked her wand, sending him spinning away from the embrasure and landing face down on the mattress. He growled.

"Fucking_ hell_, Granger! What was that for?"

"Somebody might have seen you, you idiot! Have you not noticed how busy the grounds are right now?"

Draco lifted his head and shot her a glare. "Seen me? I'm hundreds of feet in the air, in a supposedly deserted room! Who the fuck do you think is looking _here_ at the moment?"

"You never know," she replied ominously, marching to the window and muttering an _Obscuro_, tinting the glass to shield them from any onlookers. "There. You can look as much as you want now."

Granger didn't move, caught in a stare at the riot of activity below. He moved carefully towards her, standing awkwardly at her side with crossed arms and a determined neutral expression.

"You look better. What's going on down there, anyway?"

"There's been an attack," she said dully, ignoring his comment about her relieved bruises and tracking the progress of several young Gryffindors under the supervision of Finnegan. "On Diagon Alley. Everybody's being sent home."

"Apart from us."

"Yes, apart from us."

Draco chewed his thumbnail. "Wouldn't it be safer to keep the students in the school?"

"Possibly. But Hogwarts is no longer a target if the students are gone. And all the families who want to go into hiding can do so now."

"Frees up the professors to fight for the Order, too."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile weakly. "I suppose it does."

"So, what now?"

"Now, Mr Malfoy, you step away from that window." Beside him, Granger jumped – _twitchy little thing, aren't you?_ – and he turned slowly, smirking in that superior manner guaranteed to set the intruder's teeth on edge.

As predicted, Professor McGonagall's lip curled minutely the moment that they faced each other. To Draco's infinite amusement, she deliberately tore her gaze away from him and fixed it onto Granger.

"You shouldn't allow Mr Malfoy to risk exposure while the situation is so delicate."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Listen here, you hag, I am not under Granger's command-"

"The glass has been obscured," Granger interrupted, administering a sharp elbow to his ribs. "Nobody will see him."

The stuffy old cow unbent slightly. "Of course. Sometimes I forget just how capable you are."

He sighed. _As if Granger's head needs any more inflating._

"I thought to tell you that the evacuation has begun, but it appears that you already aware of this." She indicated the window with a brittle hand. "Also, your friends are in the common room. Miss Weasley, for one, is refusing to leave without seeing you."

"Thank you."

"Not at all, Miss Granger. I wish you the best of luck over the summer." He was shocked to see McGonagall's features softening with warmth and affection. "Take care of yourself, Hermione."

"You too, professor."

The woman nodded stiffly, gifting Draco with a baleful stare before she turned heel and left.

"What, no parting message for me?" he muttered bitterly under his breath.

Granger snorted. "I'm sure she was just _dying_ to give you a goodbye hug."

He could barely contain an answering snort of his own. "Oh, she was. I could see it in her eyes."

"Better luck next time, Malfoy."

She slapped him heartily across the shoulder and strode towards the door. He fought the grin that attempted to take over his mouth, and followed.

* * *

Hermione was not prepared for the redheaded missile that vaulted across the sofa and launched itself at her.

"Why aren't you coming with us?"

Untangling herself from Ginny's embrace, she pasted on a beatific smile and straightened her friend's tie with breezy nonchalance. "I have to take Malfoy to a safe house. We'll be leaving straight after you."

"I don't understand why you can't just bring him to Headquarters-"

"It wouldn't be a good idea, you know that."

"Yeah, fuck knows what those idiot brothers of yours would do to me, for a start."

Malfoy slunk over to the sofa, sitting down heavily beside a scared Neville and ignoring the quelling look Hermione sent his way.

"It would be something horrendous," Ginny whispered, chuckling despite herself.

"Horrendous," she echoed, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "As well as morally ambiguous and potentially illegal."

"But so much fun to watch."

She smiled. "Agreed."

A throat cleared in the vicinity of the portrait hole. "Miss Weasley, Mr Longbottom, perhaps you should say your final goodbyes. The Hogwarts Express will be leaving shortly."

Ginny folded her into another squeezing hug. "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"

"Yes."

Neville shuffled across and patted her arm. "We'll miss you."

Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes. "I'll miss you too. Both of you."

Ginny sniffed. "Promise to write?"

"As soon as I can. Give my love to your family."

Dumbledore stepped closer. "Miss Weasley, Mr Longbottom..."

"Yes, sir, we're going. Goodbye, Hermione. Be safe."

"Bye, Gin. Bye, Neville. Look after yourselves."

They were bundled through the portrait hole by a waiting Professor McGonagall, who raised a hand in a final salute. Hermione struggled to tamp down the feeling of loss already threatening to overwhelm her when the Headmaster pulled her aside.

"I, too, must take my leave, Miss Granger, but not before I share with you a few instructions."

"Very well, sir."

He led her further away from Malfoy, who was trying to disguise his intent of listening in.

"The seven secret passages from the school have been sealed, both magically and physically. Should you need to leave Hogwarts for any reason, the floo in my office is the only one left open, and it is connected to a pre-determined Order safe house. The password to my office is _mint imperial –_ I leave to your discretion how much of this information you share with Mr Malfoy."

He scanned her face searchingly and continued.

"Madam Pomfrey has placed a number of protective and nourishing spells over Mr Potter. An Order member will be sent within the next day or so to collect him and convey him to Headquarters, where he will be cared for until he recovers. If needs be, the Order member will identify themselves to you by asking a question only you know the answer to."

Hermione frowned. "You're sure that Harry'll be all right?"

"Quite certain, dear girl. I myself tested Poppy's enchantments, and they will hold. If not, I will be alerted and help will be sent. Mr Potter's map and cloak have been placed in your chamber, if you wish to visit him."

"Thank you, Headmaster. About Malfoy... Is he free to wander the castle?"

"I don't see why not. As I say, without the floo, there's no way to leave. In any case, I rather think he would feel he has nowhere else to go. Forgive me, Miss Granger, but it really is past time for my departure."

He held out a hand. Hermione shook it... and failed to stifle a gasp. The Headmaster's hand was blackened, twisting, and hideously reminiscent of...

_Those hands in Devizes, poking out from a pile of burnt corpses, almost as a reminder of the humanity that had forsaken that wretched town. _

Her eyes were stinging.

_They'd been sweetly intertwined. Perhaps their owners had thought sheer love would save them from the terror unfolding in the rolling Wiltshire fields_.

The ground beneath her still-booted feet was spinning.

_Or perhaps they sought to give each other comfort during those excruciating last few minutes of life, guiding each other through the pain and the horror and the certainty of death, determined not to leave the other to suffer that fate alone._

The room was darkening.

_They were people... magical or not, they were people. Real human beings who laughed, cried, had stories to tell and favourite songs to listen to, with minds full of beauty and ideas and surprises... and they're all gone..._

There was a thud, then a pair of puzzled grey eyes and a murmur of her name.

"_Hermione."_

* * *

**Whenever I read Dramione fanfiction (and I do that, like, _a lot_), the moment that Draco first says Hermione's given name always sets me squeee-ing. I even squeee'd while writing it :D**

**Please leave a review. They help me get my arse in gear, and also provide warm and fuzzies!**


	11. Chapter 11

**It's been two months since my last update, and not a day has gone by where I haven't felt terrible for not updating. Over the summer, shit got serious in my RL and I put off writing this until I was in a better frame of mind. Things are settling down now (hopefully) and I was finally able to return to my beloved _Dormite_. If you're a returning reader, please accept my apologies and my huge love and thanks for your patience. If you're a new reader, hello!**

Chapter Eleven - Knight

Early morning sunshine was filtering into the room, illuminating a collection of dust motes falling gently to the floor. Draco frowned at the otherwise immaculate space, with its bed fastidiously made up, books and papers stacked neatly on a fanatically tidy desk, and the meticulously scrubbed windowsill that was free of the dead flies which peppered his own.

_Trust Granger to live in some sort of sterilised paradise._

On the ruthlessly polished bedside table, a handful of golden frames had borrowed a gleaming quality from a shaft of pale light. Draco moved closer to inspect them, narrowing his eyes at the contents. The frames were mostly filled with wizarding photographs of Granger and her little gang – a group picture of Dumbledore's Army from the Umbridge days; her, Potter and all of the Weasleys in an overgrown garden, laughing as the Terror Twins pulled faces; her and Ginny Weasley with crossed eyes and frothy Butterbeer moustaches in the Three Broomsticks. There was a photo of her and Krum, raising their glasses to the camera at the Yule Ball – _the one night that she managed to look half-decent_ – and one of Potter and Sirius Black, arms looped around shoulders and grinning idiotically in a kitchen festooned with Christmas decorations.

The photograph that really captured his interest, however, was the only one whose subjects were still. Draco tapped the frame to wake them, picking it up when the three inhabitants stubbornly refused to comply. _This must be a Muggle photo_, he thought, eyeing the frozen, happy smiles. _Now, how do these work? _

Releasing the picture from its frame, he noticed an inscription on the back – _Sam, Diana and Hermione, Eurovision '88_ – scribbled beneath an official-looking stamp of _'developed by Kodak at your local pharmacy'_. He flipped the photo and studied it again. Was it the mysterious Kodak or Eurovision that caused Granger and the accompanying couple – _her parents?_ \- to be dressed in such a strange manner? The much-younger Granger had, inexplicably, a beret on her head that was far too large, a striped top and a string of what appeared to be garlic around her neck. The woman, whom she closely resembled and whose lap she was sitting on, wore a flouncy flamenco dress and fruit-shaped earrings that would put Lovegood to shame. The man, dressed head to toe in green, had his arms wrapped lovingly around the others. He could only be Granger's father, Draco realised, recognising the bushy brown curls that were escaping from beneath a wig that was violently orange in colour. He turned his attention back to Granger, whose radiant smile almost provoked an answering one from himself. In all the years he'd known her, he;d never seen her look so... _at ease_. He wondered if her magic had fully manifested by the time this picture was taken, whether she had any idea of the power she had coursing through her. This Granger was a world away from the one he'd hated for six years, the one who had saved him from curses and torture, the one he'd watched over after her collapse the day before...

...the one who gasped from the other side of the room now, eyes as wide as saucers and knuckles whitened around the invisibility cloak bundled in her hands.

Draco turned to face her. "Back so soon? Didn't run into Filch, did you?"

"Put that down," she said, her voice filled with an unnatural forced calm. "Malfoy, don't... don't..."

"Don't what?" He waved the photo at her. "I've never seen a Muggle one before. These your parents?"

"Put it down. Please. Please, don't do anything to it. I'm begging-"

She was taking small steps towards him, deliberately slow movements, as if she were approaching some skittish wild animal. He scoffed.

"Begging? Fuck's sake, Granger, what the hell do you think I'm going to do? Here, have it back, if it means so much to you."

"It does mean a lot to me." She was closer now, near enough to pluck the picture from his outstretched hand with a relieved sigh. "A great deal. Thank you."

_Thank you_. Was he really that much of a bastard that she expected him to tear it to pieces before giving it back?

_You would have before, _whispered his unwelcome conscience.

Draco shook his head. "I wasn't going to..." he began, attempting to mask the offence he'd taken at her insinuation. "I wasn't going to do anything _bad _to it, you silly cow. I was just looking."

Granger hummed absently in agreement, focusing on wiping the smudges of his fingerprints from the photograph. "What were you doing in here, anyway?"

He looked away awkwardly while she placed the frame back in its original position, running a reverential thumb over its gilded edge. "I thought you might have my wand." 

"I don't." She opened her trunk and stuffed the cloak and a piece of tatty parchment inside. "It didn't come with you to the dorm." 

He growled and sat heavily on the bed, ignoring the irritated twitch of her mouth. "Snape has it, then, or Dumbledore. Or maybe they just left it on the Astronomy Tower."

"I doubt they'd be that careless."

"Careless enough to have locked us up here for Salazar knows how long. How are we supposed to eat? My feeding spell's long since worn off."

Granger shuffled out of her sensible shoes and headed for the common room. "Call for Dobby the House Elf, he's looking after us while we're here. Ask him _nicely_, though, Malfoy." She stopped at the door. "And meals are to be eaten in the common room, not the bedroom. We're not savages, you know."

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The sound of his chuckle followed her out of the room. Hermione picked up her ever-present copy of _Hogwarts: a History_ and settled down on the sofa, still puzzling over this new, improved Malfoy. For a few seconds earlier, she had genuinely believed he might damage her favourite photograph out of spite, and belatedly castigated herself for her own lack of faith.

_After all, didn't he prove that his trustworthiness yesterday?_

She felt her face flame at the memory of her mortifying little _episode_. What must the Headmaster have thought of her, fainting away at the sight of his hand? Nevertheless, it had been Malfoy who had lifted her from her crumpled position on the floor, handling her with a gentleness that she would never suspected him of possessing. It had been Malfoy who had carried her to her bed, and it was his shadow that filled the doorway at intervals during her fitful sleep, listening for a few moments of even breaths before disappearing once more. Torn between embarrassment at her own weakness and gratitude for his care, she hated the way she had risen before dawn to check if anything was out of place in the dorm before she had left to visit Harry.

The visit had been longer than Malfoy had thought. Hermione had taken care to leave quietly. Once in the Hospital Wing, she had carefully copied the wand movements she had watched Madam Pomfrey execute, and cast a diagnostic spell over her best friend before spilling out her troubles to his unconscious form.

"_I know you'd tell me not to trust him, but he looked after me like I was his friend."_

"_Yes, he's always been an absolute nightmare of a person, Harry, but I think he might be changing... recovering... He might be thinking for himself now..."_

"_He called me Hermione."_

"Granger?"

"Hermione." Slamming back into reality, her head snapped up. Malfoy was in one of the squashy armchairs at the fireside, sipping slowly from a steaming mug of coffee. "What?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You feeling all right?"

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "No. Just... I don't think I thanked you for what you did yesterday."

The tips of his ears turned slightly pink, and he shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "Yes, well, don't mention it. Actually, _do_ mention it. What happened?"

It was her turn to squirm. "Nothing. Exhaustion."

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Granger. You were fine, then you shook Dumbledore's hand and hit the deck like a sack of shit."

She swallowed hard. _That hand, it was like..._ "That's a nice comparison."

"It's an honest one."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. I'll go up to the Hospital Wing, shall I? Shake Scarhead until he wakes up, and ask _him_?"

"Don't call him _Scarhead_. Look, it's nothing, there was a situation on the way to getting your aunt's wand, that's all."

Malfoy had gone dangerously still. "What kind of situation?"

"There was a fire... the Death Eaters, they'd..." She cleared her suddenly full throat. "The people in Devizes-"

"Had been rounded up and burned." Malfoy stared into the middle distance, stricken. "The bastard did it, then."

Hermione blinked. "You _knew_ about this?"

"Of course not! It was a _threat_, I never thought... The Dark Lord said if my family displeased him, he would... They may have been Muggles, but they were _our_people..."

"They were people, regardless of their magical ability! They were people! Husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, daughters and sons, Malfoy!" She was on her feet, tears streaming down her face, and he was looking at her in horror, but she didn't care. "They died_, _they died horrible, agonising deaths, and they were holding onto each other, people who still _loved_ in the face of such _hatred_, and you still think they're _just Muggles_?"

He shot to his feet. "You think I didn't know they were fucking people?" he shouted. "Devizes is my home, you think I didn't see them nearly every day? I used to sneak out of the Manor and play in those streets! The girl I had my first kiss with, the boys I had my first drink with – all Muggles! And now they're _all fucking dead!_" He seemed to collect himself, and took deep breaths until his tone was icy calm. "All fucking dead. Don't you dare lecture me on them being people, Granger. I knew that better than most."

His words hit her like a freight train. "I- I didn't... I th-thought," she stuttered miserably, hot shame pulsing through her. "I didn't think you'd-"

"I was a child, and children are children, no matter who their parents are."

"But you've always..."

"What?"

Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. "Always been such an intolerant _bastard_."

Malfoy seemed to deflate, mirroring her stance. "There are the things I've been taught, the things I _know_. And then there are the things I've seen, and the things that I _feel._ They're not always compatible... reconcilable. They're separate."

"Separate?" 

"Separate. They exist... separately."

"Compartmentalising," she murmured softly. "That's how you're doing it. The bullying, the hatred, the rage – you compartmentalise."

He sneered. "Whatever, Granger. Save the psychoanalysis for Potter, he needs it more than me. Speaking of, isn't it about time for you to pay him another visit?"

He stormed into his room and slammed the door shut before she could reply.

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_Oh, for the love of fuck, why is it always her?_

Since they'd first met, the mere sound of Hermione fucking Granger's voice had been able to anger him. Later, it was the scowls and holier-than-thou bullshit that had provoked his rage, and _now_, it appeared, the sight of her fury and disappointment in him could make long-held secrets come spewing forth from his stupid mouth.

_What the pissing hell is wrong with me?_

They had just been settling into an uneasy accord. The awkward establishment of a quasi-friendship on her part; the admitted trust and the unadmitted, furiously-given care and loyalty towards her on his. She had saved him, she had taken hideous injuries in doing so, and as a result he had pledged himself to her.

_Like some fucking chivalrous knight, _he mocked himself. _And now she knows your darkest secret._

He felt that he should perhaps cry for the people of Devizes, mourn them in some way. Sneaking out of the Manor as a child had brought him into contact with people he should never have known existed: Peter and James, sons of the local milkman, who had taught him how to play football on the West Field, who, years later, pillaged a bottle of their father's whiskey so they could get drunk in the park; Daniel from the corner shop, a shy boy with an interest in history, who'd asked no questions about Draco's complete ignorance of many everyday processes in the Muggle world; Harriet Pearce, daughter of a shopkeeper, who had touched her lips to his one glorious summer's evening down by the river.

_All. Fucking. Dead._

Not only that, dead because of him and his family. He wondered whether it had been his failure to kill Dumbledore that had sparked the Dark Lord's murderous revenge, or whether it had been his mother's defection. Had his father finally stood up to the crazy bastard?Unlikely.

No, Lucius Malfoy would probably go to his grave still kissing the feet of Tom Riddle. Besides, it would hardly concern his father if a few hundred Muggles were burnt to ash. It was a strike at himself then, or his mother. Draco determinedly ignored the tug in his chest at the thought of Narcissa. _Compartmentalising_, Granger had called it. Well, if compartmentalising saved him from a whirlwind of pain and grief, then he couldn't see a problem with it.

Unbidden, an image of the vivid blue skies above Devizes swirling with acrid smoke surfaced in his mind, and he kicked the wardrobe with a growl.

_They'll pay._

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Far from hovering at the door, Hermione was splashing cool water on her face and glamouring away the tell-tale puffiness of her eyes. She had been about to follow Malfoy's bitter suggestion of a visit to Harry when she'd noticed some new names on the Marauder's Map – two Order members heading towards the Hospital Wing, and one Weasley haring through Gryffindor Tower. The glamour was barely in place when the sound of loud banging smashed the grim silence that had settled over the dorm.

"Oi, Hermione, open the door! This pillock won't let me in!"

She prayed that he meant the slightly argumentative portrait of Sir Lancelot covering the dormitory entrance, and not the extremely argumentative blond that was hopefully sulking in his room.

_Christ knows what would happen if Ron found out about Malfoy._

Speeding into the common room, she chanced a glance at Malfoy's firmly closed door and breathed a sigh of relief. The knocks and calls from the corridor were getting louder and more determined, no doubt due to the dismissive commentary she could hear Sir Lancelot providing.

"Thou art but a weakling, boy! Milady's heart shall never be won through demonstrations of thy puny strength alone. Hast thou tried writing poetry?"

"Sod off, arse-head!"

"Perhaps poetry is beyond thy capability. Canst thou dance?"

"I don't want to win her heart! I just want to see her!"

"Very noble, lad. When the cause is hopeless, the best one can hope for is the merest sight of thy lady."

Hermione snorted at the irritated growl on the other side of the portrait. "Ron?"

"Hermione, thank Godric! Let me in!"

She chewed her lip. "We need to ask each other a question, to confirm our identities. Dumbledore said so."

There was a moment of silence from beyond the door.

"Hast thou gone into a fit, boy?"

"No! Shut up, I'm thinking. Right, erm... Hermione, what does the W in SPEW stand for?"

"Welfare," she answered promptly, feeling a twinge of annoyance. "And it's not _spew_, it's..."

"S.P.E.W., yeah. All right, ask me one."

"What did Fred and George transfigure your teddy bear into?"

Ron cleared his throat. Sir Lancelot laughed.

"Thou art as pale as a ghost! Was it a very monstrous beast?"

"It was a spider," came the reply, barely audible. "A massive spider."

To the sound of raucous laughter, Hermione pushed the portrait and immediately folded her other best friend into a hug. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"Yeah, me too." He returned the hug. "You okay?"

"Fine." It took some effort, but she managed to paste on a fairly convincing smile after releasing him. "You?"

"Not bad. How's Harry?"

"Doing well, as far as I can see. You've come to take him away, I presume?"

Ron nodded. "Pomfrey's set up shop at Headquarters, she'll look after him there. Listen, why don't you come back with us? Take a break from the research?" 

_Oh, God, he doesn't know._ Hermione pulled him away from the portrait hole and tried to lead him down the corridor. "I'd love to, but I can't. The Headmaster told me to stay-"

"And you're not even allowed a day's holiday?" He patted her shoulder indulgently and stepped into the dorm. "Come on, I'll even carry some books for you."

She followed him, tugging at his sleeve. "No, Ron, please don't. I can't come with you. Maybe you should go and help with Harry-"

"Why are you so jumpy? It's only a day off." He pulled his arm free of her nervous grasp and settled it around her shoulders. "You know, Percy would never let me in here while he was Head Boy. It's big, isn't it?"

"Bigger than your entire house, I dare say, Weasley. Now unhand my babysitter."

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**Two months without writing a word has left me feeling a little rusty and, well, nervous. Please leave me a review – I love hearing what you're thinking!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello! Another long wait, I know. In between this update and the last, I changed job (well, it's the same job but in a new place) I am absolutely exhausted with my new commute, which means less time for writing. Not a day has gone by without me feeling guilty for not updating, but I've finally had some time off and I got to devote a day to _Dormite_, which has been lovely! A big thank you to those who are sticking with me – _you know who you are!_ \- and your patience and understanding soothes my soul. Onwards!**

**Oh, a quick warning – there is some dark material ahead that some readers may find upsetting.**

* * *

Chapter Twelve - Marks

Anger and confusion washed over Ron's face, his cheeks paling and reddening by turn.

Malfoy was regarding him coolly, one perfect pale eyebrow raised arrogantly.

Hermione slowly closed her eyes, suddenly feeling unaccountably tired.

A few moments passed before Malfoy spoke again. "We're all very entertained by your fish impression, Weasley," he drawled, words dripping with haughty disdain. "But it's time for you to either close your mouth or say something."

Ron's arm tightened convulsively around her shoulder and she felt, rather than heard, the odd strangled noise that broke from the back of his throat. At Malfoy's derisive laugh, the noise became a growl, and before Hermione could stop him, Ron was charging across the room.

The sniggering blond didn't even attempt to duck out of the way; instead, he rushed to meet the attack head on, landing the first punch on Ron's chin. The dull grunts and thumps of fists against flesh fired Hermione's anger, and with a violent swish of her wand, she separated the warring pair and bound their hands behind their backs with a yell of _Incarcerous._

"Stop it!" she shrieked, swishing her wand in temper. "Stop acting like children! Malfoy is here under Order protection-"

"The hell he is, he tried to kill Dumbledore!"

"I'll have you know that I got cursed for my pains-"

"That's a shame, Malfoy, I feel really sorry for you-"

"Enough." Hermione fixed both of them with a glare. "That is enough. Ron, I'm sorry that you had to find out like this-"

His face blotched with rage again. "I can't believe that_ this_ is the super-secret project I'm not allowed to ask you about. We'll see what Harry has to say-"

"Oh, your precious Potter knew all about it," Malfoy interrupted, as airily as his bleeding mouth would allow. "Come to think of it, so that little sister of yours. Didn't they, _Hermione?_"

Ron was purpling now. "Don't call her that. Don't pretend that you're friends, that she doesn't hate you just as much as I do, you filthy Death Eater bastard-"

"_Silencio!_" Hermione tamped down on her anger and took a few steps closer to her best friend of six years. "I'm sorry, Ron, truly. If it were up to me, you would have known, but you weren't here, and the less people who knew, the better."

Malfoy scoffed. "It's not as if anyone can trust that fucking temper of yours, either, is it, Weasel?"

Hermione cast an irritated _Silencio_ on the smirking blond and turned back to Ron. "He's just baiting you, don't give him the satisfaction. Are you going to listen to me now?"

The redhead glowered and gave a sullen nod.

"Malfoy isn't a Death Eater anymore and, yes, Harry knew – you would've known too, if that Confundus hadn't knocked you for six. Malfoy failed in his mission, accepted help from Dumbledore, and now Voldemort wants him dead. Bellatrix cursed him, almost killed him, and now he's staying here with me because he just isn't safe anywhere else. Whatever your feelings towards him, the Order has a duty to protect those in danger. You do understand, don't you?"

He nodded again, shoulders slumping.

"Good. I'm not asking you to like it, but I _am_ asking you to keep it a secret. Will you do that?"

Ron's mouth was moving, and Hermione's lip-reading was accomplished enough to recognise several choice words and suggestions on what to do with Malfoy. She shook her head at him with a small smile. "No, Ronald, I think we're above all that. Besides, I trust him."

* * *

"I trust him."

_Fuck_. For once, Draco's magnificent range of expletives failed him entirely, and he could think of little to say beyond his favourite word. _Fuck_. Granger was watching him oddly, Weasel too, and he realised that she had removed the _Silencio_ and _Incarcerous_, leaving him to gape at her moronically for several seconds.

"You all right, Malfoy?"

"Yes," he ground out. _Pull it together, you look like a total fucking idiot_. "Still here, Weasley? Hoping for a decent meal before you go back to your rubbish dump?"

He would have enjoyed the scarlet that immediately stained Weasley's face and ears if he hadn't been so certain that there were slashes of pink high across his own cheeks. Granger caught her friend's eye and shook her head again.

"Ignore him. You're more than welcome to stay for a while."

_He's really not_. Draco was glad to see the rueful twist of Weasley's hideous mouth. "I can't. I was only supposed to stay for two minutes; long enough to say hello and convince you to come back with us. They'll be wondering where I am."

Granger bit her lip. "Of course. Did Remus... that is, did he say anything about bringing..."

A familiar deep voice emanated from the still-open portrait hole. "I did indeed. Hello, Hermione, how are you?"

Remus Lupin stepped calmly into the room, meeting Granger's smile with a tired one of his own. Draco stared as his ex-professor, looking more gaunt than ever but with something of a glint in his eye, reached into his shabby overcoat and handed over a package of age-yellowed papers.

"For you. I gathered everything I could lay my hands on."

Granger took the papers with a nervousness that seemed almost reverential. "Thank you. Would you like me to let you know how it goes?"

"Please do." Lupin gave her another smile before frowning slightly at the bruise rapidly darkening Weasley's chin. His hazel eyes wandered over to Draco, where they rested pensively.

"It's nice to see you again, Draco."

Draco fought his instinctive recoil, suppressing his automatic urge to spit out insults.

_Dog._

_Beast._

_Werewolf._

But Granger wouldn't like that, and he wasn't such an idiot that he couldn't guess what those papers contained, what the man was trying to do for him. He felt her gaze boring into him as Lupin slowly, carefully, stretched out a hand. The stubby fingers were ink-stained, with nails chewed almost to the quick and a healing graze curling from the forefinger down into the palm. Draco swallowed, meeting Granger's eyes for the briefest of seconds before he made his decision.

With a deep breath he hoped would go unnoticed, he settled his face into an expression of polite neutrality and grasped the outstretched hand in a firm shake.

"Thank you for coming."

Lupin's warm response was immediate, covering their clasped hands with his free one. "You're most welcome, Draco," said the professor, more kindly than the simple act probably deserved. "I really am glad to see you."

Draco worked his hand free and nodded, shrugging slightly at Granger's beaming smile of approval. Lupin watched the interaction with interested, amused eyes. Weasley huffed in annoyance.

"Well, this has been lovely," he said sourly, rubbing his chin with a wince. "Any problems with Harry?"

"None at all. He's been very well cared for." Their former professor turned to face them fully. "I should think he'll be up and about in a day or two. Dora's taken him through the Floo – they'll be back at Headquarters by now."

"Oh, Tonks! I'm sorry I missed her." Draco's brows lowered as Granger chirped like a manic bird. _Tonks? _"Give her my love, won't you, and ask her to write? I adore her letters."

"I will." Some of the shadows left Lupin's face as he grinned. "She does have quite the talent for correspondence, doesn't she? Oh, gods, look at the time. I'm sorry, Hermione, but we really have to go-"

Granger blinked rapidly. "I understand. Thank you for bringing... for bringing the papers."

"Of course. Ron?"

Weasley lifted his head from his study of the carpet and flushed. "I don't care what you say, Hermione, it doesn't sit right with me... leaving you with him..."

Draco scowled as Granger sighed and wrapped her ginger friend in one of her bone-crushing hugs. "I know you're worried," she was saying, her words muffled by Weasley's shoulder. "But you needn't be. Malfoy and I will be fine, I promise."

"You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"Yes. I promise that, too."

"Good." Weasley extricated himself from her embrace and sent Draco a glare so venomous it was almost comical. "You hurt her, Malfoy, and I swear to Godric, it'll be the last thing you do."

_Ooh, hard man. _"Consider me thoroughly warned, Weasley. I have no desire to be sat upon by your mother."

"You wanker, I'll-" The idiot was silenced by a tap on the hand from Granger.

Lupin coughed conspicuously. "Yes, time to go, I think. Take care, Hermione. You too, Draco."

* * *

It wasn't until the footsteps of her best friend and former professor had stopped echoing in the empty corridors of the Tower that Hermione turned to look at Malfoy. Perhaps sensing her appraisal, his gaze switched from its silent contemplation of the back of the portrait entrance to her, regarding her with an odd mixture of defiance and apology.

"I don't know how you've managed to stay friends with such raging dickheads for so long," he said at length. "I'm not sure who's worse, Weasel or Scarhead."

Hermione laughed, her planned reproof melting away at his childish pout. "You're all as bad as each other," she replied cheerfully, fishing her wand from her waistband. "Want me to fix your lip?"

He nodded absently, leaning down until his face was level with hers. "Better do my eye, too. I can practically feel it swelling."

She lifted her wand to his cut mouth. He was so close to her now that she could feel his breath fanning across her face, the faint aroma of the coffee he'd been drinking wafting around her, combined with that warm, distinctly _Malfoy_ scent. Her heart gave an uncomfortable stutter when she caught his wide eyes searching hers, and she refocused on the task at hand. Masking the sudden betrayal of her tremulous hands, Hermione cast the healing spells and quickly distanced herself from him, planting herself firmly on the sofa.

"There. All done."

"Thank you." He straightened awkwardly and cleared his throat, following her across the room to take up his original seat in the armchair. "Those are the papers, I take it? About the... about the Mark?"

Hermione cast a nervous eye over the pile of papers at her side, tracking the curls and tears around the parchments' edges. "Yes, they are."

_And Christ knows what we'll find in them._

Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath. "Okay. Yeah, good."

"You don't have to... I mean, I know you said you wanted it removed... but if you've changed your mind..." She kicked herself mentally. _Full sentences now, Hermione, there's a good girl. _"That is, if you want more time, I understand. You can always read through the papers before you decide, there's no pressure."

"No pressure." He repeated her words wryly. "If only that was an option before I had it done."

The right thing to do in this situation would be to leave. She should show some sensitivity and hand over the papers without further comment, allowing him time to make up his mind in peace and come to her when he'd made his final decision. He didn't need sympathy, or compassion, or any of the questions she was burning to ask him...

"What was it like? Taking the Mark?"

_Nicely done._

His head shot up at her rushed, almost unintelligible demand. "What was it _like_?"

A furious blush spread across her cheeks and she rose from the sofa. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, I didn't mean to say that. You don't have to answer. I'll go."

"No," he said softly, gesturing for her to stay in her seat. "You don't have to go. I'll tell you." He watched her warily as she sat down. "It starts off with the Dark Lord calling for an audience with you when you least expect it. You are told that you have been selected for Marking, and that you have one week to... prove yourself."

"Prove yourself?" Hermione hated the catch in her voice.

Malfoy's eyes bored into hers, their darkened grey depths were shuttered. "Prove yourself," he repeated flatly. "In whichever way you think might impress the Dark Lord and his senior Death Eaters. Anything horrific, anything inhuman. Anything that causes suffering to lesser beings. The more impressive the deed, the closer to the front you are in the queue for Marking."

She swallowed. "Where were you in the queue?"

His voice still held that dull, flat tone, as if he were listing Quidditch statistics. "Third."

"And... and what did you do?"

He blinked at the direct question, just a momentary flicker of surprise before the shutters were firmly back in place. "I did nothing."

* * *

Granger frowned. "Nothing?"

"That's right." Draco struggled against the memories, struggled to wrap himself back in the cold, familiar cloak of dispassion and disassociation when Granger's eyes were so firmly trained on him. "I did nothing."

_Let her think what she fucking well pleases. It's probably no worse than the truth._

With what looked like a herculean effort, Granger didn't press him any further. He could have kissed her for her tactfulness.

_I could kiss her anyway._

Draco started. _Where the fuck did that come from?_

She was speaking again. He tamped down on his reeling thoughts and shook his head. "What?"

"I said, what happened then?"

"Oh." Ignoring her curious look, he reached for and finally found his defences, and they settled around him like a ring of steel. "When the Dark Lord considers you _proven_, he sends for you in the middle of the night. You are all gathered together and Apparated to... a terrible place. From the outside, it looked like an old manor house, but inside... inside is every nightmare you've ever had."

"How... How do you mean?"

"It's in the walls," he said, his voice sounding raspy to his own ears. "The misery, the pain, the horror, in the walls, almost like it's bleeding out of them. Almost like it's slithering along the fouled carpet and coming straight for you. I don't know... I don't know how to describe it. You're led through the house, disgusting things in every room, the house's memories being played out for you everywhere, until you go down a staircase into the cellars."

"What's down there?"

"They look like catacombs." Draco closed his eyes and reopened them, but the images wouldn't fade from his mind. "You are pushed into one. They... they lock you into it, this hole in the wall, this tiny space. It's dark, the bricks are oozing, and there's fuck knows what crawling underneath you. And then it starts."

"Starts?"

He looked up at her. She was on the edge of her seat now, eyes clouded with tears, a shocked hand rested on her mouth. Pure, decent Granger. He wondered if he should leave it there, allow her to remain unsullied by the story of his Marking, let her keep that beautiful certainty that there was an unshakeable goodness in the world.

"I don't... I don't think..."

"Please, Malfoy." In a whirl of wild hair and huge brown eyes, she was in front of him, perched on the coffee table, gingerly taking his hand in hers. "I want to know."

Draco tensed and studied her hand. "It's not a nice story."

"No. But... I still want to know."

He sighed. "As you wish. You're in the hole. It's dark. The air is thick and noxious with spells you can't even begin to decipher. You don't want to breathe, not only because of the smell and taste, but because if you do, your chest will touch the roof and that breath might just be your last. You close your eyes, try to pretend that you're somewhere warm and safe, that you're not in this rotten, infested hell-hole, but that's not how it works. That's not what you're there for. Then you start seeing them... the people. People you know, people you don't know, every irrational fear and far-fetched dream you've ever known, all threaded together like a hideous tapestry. Memories that aren't yours playing out in front of you... abject, terrible memories that somehow become your own. You see yourself doing depraved things. Strangers, people you love, they're all there, joining in or being used in sickening ways."

He broke off, blinking away a renegade tear. Granger's grip on his hand tightened.

"After a while, it becomes impossible to tell what's real and what isn't. You can't tell your memories apart from what _he's_ put in your mind, and it doesn't matter anyway... whether or not you've done those things, they will stay with you forever. He wants you to feel that way; he wants you to feel complicit. I... I can't..." Draco drew in a breath and lifted his head. "I was there all night."

"God, Malfoy, I-"

"In the morning, the Death Eaters came to fetch us," he said, a grim momentum compelling him to push through to the end. "They laughed at how pale we were, how we all jumped at the slightest noise. My father was there... he looked so proud."

Granger shuddered.

"Then we were taken back up into the house, into a room with this... throne. The Dark Lord was sitting there, and we lined up before him, in our queue positions, arms outstretched. The, er... the pain when he touches you... it's unbearable. And while he has hold of your arm, more of his thoughts flood through you. You feel weak and sick, and then he brings out his special fucking knife and dips it into this pot of black liquid before jamming it into your arm. You're screaming the whole time – screaming at the pain, screaming at what he's putting into your mind, screaming because the ink is fashioning itself into the Mark and it's burning its way through your flesh. And then... darkness. Nothingness. Absolute silence and blackness until you wake up, sweating and shivering, curled up on the floor of Malfoy Manor."

Draco raised his eyes to hers, seeing reflected there the horror he felt himself. She had caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but it was still wobbling. "That's it," he said hoarsely, returning his gaze to her hand.

Granger was trying to clear her throat discreetly, but her voice was still thick when she spoke. "For all that's passed between us... For all the bad blood... I'm glad you're here, Malfoy. I'm glad you're not one of them anymore."

He nodded, not trusting himself to reply. She squeezed his hand one last time and stood, and within seconds, the bundle of papers had been pressed into his unresponsive hands.

"Look through these. I want you to know what will happen if you decide to go through with the removal." Granger touched his shoulder, a shy, tentative attempt at comfort that burned him in a new way. "I know it was hard... but thank you for telling me, Draco."

She smiled shakily and returned to the sofa, picking up her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and letting a comfortable silence fall across the room. Draco watched her read for a while, before lifting the first page of the bundle.

_Property of Regulus Arcturus Black._

* * *

**Whoosh. The Dark Mark doesn't sound like fun, does it? Please review!**


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